


if wishes were horses, we would rule the world

by epicureanEmpath



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Sibling Incest, Violence, Violence Against Mutants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 04:13:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epicureanEmpath/pseuds/epicureanEmpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A red spark flickered between her palm and his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of a larger RP universe that my fiancee and I have written together. It is an attempt to fill in Pietro and Wanda's backstory so that their entrance into the 'verse made sense. As such, it is not canonical in any way and fits nowhere in the regular Marvel verse.
> 
> This fic is dedicated to Prag, who encouraged me to post it and beta'd so marvellously, and to mutantslikethese, for their love of the Twins. Thank you, darlings, for your support. :)

**1.**

 

“I think we should go to America,” Pietro said.

His feet in their stolen running shoes made the sand dance even when he stood still, as he did then, beside her on the beach at La Rochelle. She looked at them and wondered _how,_ when they had done so much running already.

“Wanda? Did you hear me?”

She squinted up at him. The wind tossed his white hair over his forehead as though trying to caress the wrinkles from it. She hated those wrinkles; he only ever looked like that because of her. She lowered her gaze and prodded another small stone into place. Five of them in a circle in the sand; one stone for each year they spent in the Facility.

Pietro sighed. He plopped down beside her, his hands hooked together around his knees so they stuck up at an angle. He looked like a crab. It almost made her smile.

“I know it's a long way,” he went on, “but we can't go back. If we wander around Europe he's bound to catch us. Africa's out – we might as well wear neon signs. In America we could blend. I'll learn English and get a job, I promise. What do you think?”

He looked at her sideways, his lip caught between his teeth, convincing himself as much as her. Wanda watched a wave break just beyond their toes. Then with her finger she drew a clumsy little sailboat in the damp. Pietro shook his head.

“A boat's too dangerous. If they found us...” He shuddered. Then he took a deep breath, his gaze on the horizon. “I think... I think I can make it, carrying you.”

At once the ocean leaped up and filled Wanda's mind with its fathomless depths. She drew her knees up to her chest and rocked a little to make it go away. Pietro immediately put his arm around her. 

“Sorry, sorry. That was stupid. I'll think of something else, it's okay.” 

He made to run his fingers through his hair, but Wanda caught his hand before it reached its mark. She held it very tight and leaned into his embrace. To run the span of an entire ocean seemed impossible, yet they had already done so many impossible things. They had come from Germany to the coast of France in less than a week without a vehicle. They had stolen food from stores, from houses, from street vendors without being caught. They had spent half their childhood in a nightmare not of their own making. They were still alive, still together and free. What were limits now except a thing of the past?

Wanda licked her lips and dug deep for her words. They had been useless in the Facility, always twisted for Herr Doktor's benefit, so she had locked most of them away. Now she drew them out, just a few to start, tentative like a child. 

“We can try.”

Her voice was so small. She hardly recognized it. She hadn't spoken more than twice since they left the small apartment in Strasbourg. Nevertheless, weak as it was it smoothed the lines in Pietro's brow, and that made the effort worth it.

“Okay,” he said, looking toward the sea. “Good. Okay.”

Still they sat. The ocean seemed more vast the longer they looked at it. When they had first arrived Wanda wanted to rush into the water, let it buoy her so she no longer had to bear the weight of the past five years. Now she almost wanted it to swallow her just so they could stop running. Herr Doktor would never find them at the bottom of the ocean.

“I need to eat,” Pietro said at last. “Then we'll go. Stay here, I'll be right back.” 

He was gone five minutes. Wanda spent the time burying the stones in the sand, still in their circular formation. It looked like a cage, she realized, which made her want to put it out of sight. She had just stood and dusted her hands off when Pietro returned. He gave her two of the five sandwiches, and they moved back to the rocks so they could eat.

They did not speak. They did not need to. Either they would cross to America in safety, or Pietro's feet would fail part way across and they would drown together, wrapped in each other's arms as they sank. They were prepared. They had always been prepared.

When they had finished the sandwiches Wanda took the wrappers to a trash can. It seemed foolish to care about garbage, but she liked this beach. It was pretty. It needed to stay pretty. She wiggled her toes in the sand as though she could bring the sensation with her when they left. She had never been outside of Europe before now but she couldn't muster the energy to be excited. Their leaving was all wrong. With a sigh she trudged back to the rocks.

Pietro took off his shoes. He tied the laces together and looped them around Wanda's neck. Then he scooped the wisp of her into his arms.

“Keep your feet tucked in if you can,” he said, “and close your eyes. Don't open them for any reason.”

“Okay.”

He took a deep breath and kissed her forehead.

“Trust me.”

She curled her fingers into his ragged shirt and shut her eyes tight. His heart hummed under her cheek. In the silent breath which followed she wished very hard that Pietro would have the strength to make it across. A red spark flickered between her palm and his heart.

They ran.

 

~*~

  

Pietro had always loved to run. Even when they were small, it seemed to Wanda that he always moved just a little bit faster than her. He was first to crawl, first to walk, first to patter on little feet into the front hallway when Vati came home from work. One day, when Pietro annoyed her so much she screamed through her teeth, Wanda crawled into Mutti's lap and demanded that she tell Pietro to _slow down._  

Instead, Mutti told Wanda that she must forgive Pietro for being in such a hurry.

“Why?” Wanda asked, all in a huff.

“You were born first, darling, by five minutes,” Mutti said, very matter of fact. “Pietro got a bit tangled up on the way out. So really, he's catching up to _you,_ not the other way around.”

Wanda blinked. She looked at her brother, who had worn himself out with his rushing about and now lay prone on the carpet, sleeping where he had fallen. All of her irritation vanished. She lay down beside him and put her little hand over his fist. They were four years old.

 

 

The spring the twins turned twelve, the GM invited Pietro to compete in the prestigious _Deutsche J_ _ü_ _nger Landesmeisterschaft_ in track and field. Mutti and Vati treated it as a great honour. The whole family would go to Berlin to support Pietro. To travel during the school year intrigued the twins, who had never been as far as Berlin. They enjoyed the train very much, their faces pressed to the window as the countryside rolled by. They counted telephone poles, deer and stations, keeping tally on a paper pad Mutti carried in her purse. Pietro counted the most deer, but Wanda was the one to spot the great hawk perched on a fence post. His yellow eyes stared at them as they zoomed past.

At the hotel they shared a queen bed, nestled in their own little room off the suite Vati had booked. That night, tucked in under the slanted roof, Pietro speculated on everything from what the other competitors would be wearing to how big the stadium would be. Wanda began to droop long before he did, but she rallied herself and nodded every few minutes. Eventually she felt Pietro wiggle around to face her.

“Wanda?”

“Mm?” she said, her eyes closed. The rain made a lulling pitter-patter above their heads. She liked the sound now, but she hoped the weather would clear by tomorrow.

“When I win the trophy tomorrow, I'll share it with you.”

Wanda thought that was silly – he would be the runner, she only his cheering section – but it warmed her to know he had thought of her first.

“Thank you, Pietro.”

She put her hand over his and fell asleep listening to his nonstop chatter.

 

 

The next day they rented a car and drove to the Olympiastadion. The stadium was by no means full, but to Pietro it may as well have been packed with screaming fans. He stood proudly while the officials pinned his number to his chest and waved as he moved with the other boys to the starting line for the introductory speech. From up in the stands Wanda waved back. His excitement had enveloped her on the walk over; now, seeing the grand venue and the officials with their silver whistles, she felt they might as well have arrived at the Olympics. 

The rain had cleared, and the day grew quite muggy for April. Wanda took off her crimson car coat and folded it over the railing in front of her. They had prime seats situated a few metres to the left of the finish line. Mutti had packed a cooler full of fruits and vegetables and plenty of water. Between races Wanda took the bottles down to Pietro on the waiting field. He encouraged her to pour the contents of one bottle down his back while he drank the second. Wanda promptly poured some down his shorts. Pietro let out a yell that startled some of the mothers nearby and immediately instigated a water fight, the two of them wielding the water bottles like swords cast in a glittering arc. Dripping and breathless from laughter, Wanda fled back to the bleachers, calling:

“At least you will run faster now, brother!”

After lunch the officials posted the results and the listing for the final races in each category. Pietro stood in second place in his age group. He would run in the third heat. He was so happy he forgave Wanda at once for the shorts incident.

“Looks like it made me run faster after all,” he said. Wanda hugged him tight, wished him luck and watched him go down the wooden steps to the field. All joking aside, she hoped the final race would be his. He had truly worked hard for this.

Now the crowd's attention remained avidly fixed on the track. The final race would be 400 metres long – a full lap of the track. Wanda squinted toward the opposite curve where the runners warmed up. She could make out Pietro's white hair bobbing among the other contestants' as they bent to the grass, doing stretches.

“Come on, Gunther! You can do it, son!”

A man had squeezed his athletic bulk into the stand beside Wanda. He cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed further encouragement. Wanda wrinkled her nose. He was very loud.

The man noticed her looking and beamed down at her.

“My son's in the next race. He placed first in his category. Couldn't be more proud.”

Wanda sniffed.

“My brother's in the next race too. He's second.”

The man laughed.

“Hasn't got a hope, but good luck to him!”

His voice boomed over their section, impossible to miss. Wanda's mother frowned.

“What a thing to say to a child!” She put her arm comfortingly around Wanda's shoulders. “Come over here, _liebling._ Don't pay him any mind. _”_

_“_ It's all right, Mutti,” Wanda said. “ _When_ Pietro wins, he'll be a good sport and shake the other boy's hand all the same.” She stuck her nose in the air and nodded. “So there.”

The big man didn't seem to hear her. Oh well. Wanda rolled her eyes, took her car coat and wiggled down the row to sit on Vati's other side. Her foot bumped against Pietro's open water bottle. It spilled, and Wanda had to lunge to prevent it falling through the slats. She tucked it into the cooler for safekeeping just as the starting gun went off.

Wanda surged to her feet. So did the rest of the crowd. The competitors burst from the blocks like young greyhounds after a hare. Wanda caught a flash of white among them. A muscular, tanned boy pulled ahead. The big man roared. This must be Gunther. Behind him Pietro broke away from the rest and began to gain on him. The big man did his best to drown out the other parents, but he could not quite muffle Wanda's shrill voice.

“Come on, Pietro!” she screamed, clutching the railing with both hands.

Pietro dogged the boy's heels but could not advance; his competitor was bigger and put more power into his strides. Second place wouldn't be all bad, but Pietro had set his heart on that trophy. He would sulk like anything if he didn't get it. In the heat of the moment, Wanda put aside all thoughts of fairness or sportsmanship. Pietro had worked just as hard as the other boys. He deserved this.

_I wish Pietro would win._

She repeated the phrase in her head like a mantra as she leaned even further over the bar. The runners rounded the last quarter and broke for the finish line. Gunther had evidently been reserving himself. Now he really opened up and began to pull ahead.

_No!_

Two things happened simultaneously. The runners came abreast of the bleachers, and the crowd surged to cheer them to the finish line. Wanda, who had already been standing on her toes, felt her feet slide right out from under her on the slippery wood. The sky and field inverted themselves. She clutched at the bar. Pain shot through her shoulder as the wall rose up to smack her in the face. Red sparks burst in her vision. She let go and slid into silence.

 

 

“--need to call an ambulance...?”

“--bump on the head--”

“--here, she's coming around now.”

Someone lifted the blackness covering Wanda's eyes. Wanda squinted. The paramedic laid the cloth aside and smiled. She shined a penlight into each of Wanda's eyes.

“Wanda, I'm Karin. You've had a little accident. Can you tell me where you are?”

Wanda tried to remember past the pounding in her head. For some reason all she could think of was where had she left her car coat? It was brand new, a birthday present from her parents. She didn't want to lose it. Wanda opened her mouth to voice her concern, but before she could make a sound Pietro all but fell into the tent.

“Is she okay?” he cried out, rushing over to them. Behind him a second paramedic ushered Mutti and Vati into the tent.

“With bed rest and cold compresses she'll be fine,” Karin said. “She's got a light concussion and a wrenched shoulder. Few bruises. Falling from a height like that, it could have been a lot worse.” She turned off her penlight and put it away. “Do you live in the city?”

“No,” Mutti said. “We've taken rooms at the Radisson.”

While the adults talked, Pietro sidled closer to Wanda. Wanda pushed herself up.

“What happened?”

They spoke at the same time. Pietro hid a giggle behind one hand. He sat down beside Wanda on the cot.

“Are you okay?” he said, very low. Wanda saw that he was worried and tried to smile.

“I think so...” She gripped Pietro's hand. “The race! What happened?”

Pietro's face lit up.

“I won! You wouldn't believe it – the lead racer tripped. Out of nowhere, just – _boom.”_ He smacked his palms together to illustrate someone falling flat on their face. “He rolled into my lane a little, but I jumped over him and crossed the line first. They're still deciding whether it's a win or not.”

“Wow. That's wonderful.” Wanda smiled for real this time. Pain shot through her temple. “Ah...”

“Easy.” With gentle fingers Pietro brushed Wanda's hair back from her forehead. He wrinkled his nose. “Ooh...”

“How bad is it?” Wanda closed one eye. Even the lightest touch set her ears ringing.

“It's... pretty purple.” Pietro pinched his lips together. He lowered his hand. “It'll be okay. We'll go back to the hotel.”

“What about your trophy?”

Pietro grinned and shrugged. “It's just a hunk of metal. _I_ know I won.”

“But you were so--”

“Excuse me.” A man in a green shirt and cap poked his head into the tent. “The officials have decided.” He looked at Pietro. “They're waiting for you.”

Mutti stepped forward.

“My daughter needs a doctor. We're going back to the hotel.”

“I'm okay, Mutti.” Wanda tried to stand. Pietro put his arm around her to help. “Let Pietro go to the ceremony. I can wait.”

“You sure?” Pietro looked caught between hope and concern. Wanda nudged him.

“I'm not _that_ fragile. Go, go!”

“I'll take him over there,” Vati said. “We'll meet you at the car, Marya.”

So Mutti and the medic helped Wanda to the car. Though she had hoped to watch her brother receive his award, even walking a few steps made her dizzy. She relaxed into the back seat and sipped from the water bottle Mutti handed her. The medic, Karin, stayed crouched beside the open door. She chatted with Wanda, asking questions and looking pleased when Wanda could answer, until Pietro and Vati appeared.

Pietro carried a trophy twelve centimetres high – a gold-plated runner on a pedestal. He brandished it from halfway across the parking lot. The glint caught Wanda's eye.

“Look, Wanda!” Pietro pushed the trophy into her hands, then ran around the car to climb in on his side. Vati stopped to shake Karin's hand before he got into the driver's seat.

“Have a safe trip back,” Karin said, bent double at Vati's window. “If you need anything the hotel doctor should be available.”

“Thank you for all your help,” Mutti said.

“Thank you!” Pietro and Wanda chorused. Pietro's voice drowned Wanda's, but Karin smiled anyway.

What a nice lady, Wanda thought as Vati started the car. She ran her thumb over the trophy's name plate:

 

_Pietro Frank_

_1_ _st_ _Place_

_April 28 2007_

 

_"_ I get to keep it,” Pietro said. “Where should I put it when we get home?”

“How about your desk?” Mutti suggested from the front seat.

“No. Wanda has to see it too. I'm sharing it with her.”

“We'll put it on the knick-knack shelf,” Wanda said. “In the playroom. Right in the middle.”

Three people sighed in relief. Wanda looked up. Mutti and Vati shared a look. Pietro beamed. Wanda yawned and put her head on Pietro's shoulder. She expected him to take the trophy back but he didn't. He only held his bony shoulder still, and smiled and smiled.

“Can you believe it? I actually won.”

“Of course you did. I wished for it,” Wanda said, and fell asleep.

 

 

That might well have been the end of Wanda's wishes, if it wasn't for the concussion. Mutti kept Wanda home from school for three days after the trip. Wanda slept for most of it, and on the third day she rose without immediately feeling dizzy. 

Thursday followed. At practice Herr Koschen, the music teacher, pulled Wanda aside.

“I heard what happened from Pietro,” he said. “I hope you're feeling better?”

“Yes sir, thank you for asking,” Wanda said.

“I'm glad to hear it. I'm sorry to put this on you so soon after the accident, but I've had to schedule your final recital for Monday. There was a sign-up sheet and Monday had the only slot left.”

“Oh _no!”_ Wanda hadn't touched her cello in almost a week. “Can't it wait? I need to practice.”

“I'm sorry, but we're running out of time,” Herr Koschen said. “I have all the music students to get through before end of year exams begin. If you can find someone to trade slots with you, I'll accept that. Just do your best otherwise.” He gave her a sympathetic smile and went to admonish the trumpet players for deafening the violinist. Wanda put a hand to her temple.

“Like I have any other choice?” she muttered.

Later, walking home with Pietro, Wanda poured out her problem.

“You could get a doctor's note,” Pietro said.

“How? The doctor was in Berlin. He's not going to mail me a note,” Wanda said. She kicked a stone. It pinged off the rail fence and skittered into the road. “Nobody else would trade slots either. It's one of the hardest pieces. Even if I practice all weekend I'm never going to be ready. ”

Pietro shrugged. “Just do your best.”

“That's what Herr Koschen said.” Wanda sighed. She didn't want to tell Pietro the truth – that she had been having red flashes in her vision since the accident. She was afraid it would happen during the recital. She was afraid of what it meant beyond that. “I wish I didn't have to perform at all.”

That evening Wanda took out her cello to practice. Her fingers felt clumsy on the strings, and her bow slipped several times. Again she wished she didn't have to perform, and she went to bed dreading the weekend. The weather had just gotten warmer too. Drat the luck.

In her dreams she played the cello again. But it grew larger and heavier until its weight pulled her off her stool and straight through the stage. Wanda, the cello and broken bits of debris fell through a red, red cloud into blackness.

The next morning Wanda forgot her dream. A low throbbing had once again set up camp behind her eyes and pushed everything else out. Her porridge tasted funny and so did the toothpaste when she brushed her teeth. She spent five minutes looking for her left shoe, only to find it on her foot. Pietro giggled at her. Wanda didn't speak to him the whole walk to school.

In fact, Wanda didn't speak to anyone through assembly and first period. Her headache persisted. She felt sure she was forgetting something important. But try as she might it would not come to her. She thought so hard about it, this mysterious _it,_ that she was afraid her forehead would develop a permanent crease. Just as she began to worry about the crease, Wanda turned the corner toward second period maths. She nearly ran headlong into Herr Koschen.

“Pardon me, Frauline Frank,” he said.

“ _Oh,”_ Wanda said.

Then she fainted.

 

 

Something cold and wet slid down Wanda's neck. She jerked awake and knocked the cloth from her eyes onto the floor. The nurse, Frau Glissen, bent to retrieve it. 

“Careful, Wanda. You're still a little concussed.” She pressed Wanda back onto the cot with a firm hand. “Stay still. We've called your mother to pick you up.”

“How long was I out?” Wanda croaked.

“Only about five minutes. Hush now.”

The door opened. Herr Koschen poked his head around the frame.

“Ah good! You're up.” He smiled at Wanda. “Gave me a fright there. Your mother is on her way. Do you need anything from your locker?”

“I think that can wait, Walter.” Frau Glissen sniffed. Herr Koschen looked sheepish.

“Of course, of course. Ah, Wanda... don't worry about your recital, all right? You've improved throughout the year and your last recital mark was very high. I'll speak with the headmaster about adjusting your final based on that. Okay?”

“Herr Koschen, this is hardly the time to worry the poor girl about grades!”

“Right! Yes, sorry. Thinking out loud.” Herr Koschen sidled almost out of sight. Then he came back and smiled at Wanda. “Do get better soon, Wanda. We'll miss you in class.” He darted away.

“Musicians,” Frau Glissen muttered. Then she patted Wanda's hand. “No offence to you, my dear. I adored your solo at the Christmas concert.”

“Thank you,” Wanda said, now thoroughly bewildered.

Ten minutes later Mutti arrived. She retrieved Wanda's things from her locker and bundled Wanda into the car. Frau Glissen promised to tell Pietro he should come straight home from school. She bid Wanda rest for the weekend and to call both the school and her family doctor on Monday if she still felt unwell.

At home, tucked up in bed with another cool cloth across her eyes, Wanda was just about to fall asleep when she realized her second wish had come true.


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

 

“Do you believe in wishes?” Wanda asked.

They had just finished their sixth year tests. The day seemed lighter, the breeze more fresh and fair. Pietro, sprawled beside Wanda on the grass, peeled off a piece of orange and passed the rest over.

“If wishes came true I wouldn't have had that test,” he said. “A whole hour wasted!” He groaned, limbs dramatically akimbo. Then he popped the orange piece in his mouth.

“It's not a _waste,_ it's important,” Wanda said. “Do you think you'll get into gymnasium?”

“Like it's hard?”

“Don't speak with your mouth full. You'll choke.”

“You sound like Mutti,” Pietro said, and promptly began to cough on a seed. Wanda rolled her eyes and thumped him on the back.

“Told you.”

Pietro gave her a dirty look. He waved off the rest of the orange. Wanda ate another piece. The school field buzzed with the chatter of students lounging in much the same manner as they, indolent with the promise of summer. Wanda chewed thoughtfully (unlike some people) and swallowed.

“Say wishes _are_ real. What would you wish for?”

“A million Euros,” Pietro said immediately.

“What would you do with it?”

“I'd buy us both an ice cream. And then I'd sit on the rest like a rich bureaucrat and laugh at everybody else.”

“Pietro, that's awful!” But the image of pompous Pietro in a suit and tie, sitting on a pile of coins, struck her helpless with giggles. Pietro grinned.

“I'm just kidding. Really would wish for that ice cream though.”

“What kind?”

“Mint.”

“Ew. I'd want chocolate cherry.”

“Lemon sherbet.”

“Pistachio.”

At the same time they looked at each other.

“Cookie dough.”

They nodded. That decided, Pietro stretched out again, his hands behind his head. Wanda finished the orange and threw the peels into the grass for the birds. She wiped her hands on her sweater and leaned back, looking up into the endless blue.

A million Euros and some cookie dough ice cream. Wouldn't be a bad way to start the summer, really.

Wanda closed her eyes.

After a little while she and Pietro got up and made their slow way home, kicking a stone between them. They plotted their summer, or at least the first day of it, each new idea leading into the next until they forgot what had come at the beginning. It didn't matter. The long empty days lay before them, waiting to be filled.

Later, when her wishes had become more than a fanciful idea and the grey walls closed her in, the memory of that afternoon walk would return to haunt her with the sound of her brother's voice and the freshness of the breeze.

The twins let themselves into the house, dropped their bags and sighed almost in unison. Pietro went upstairs to bathe. (For all he rushed around so much, he was really fastidious about being clean. Wanda didn't understand the appeal - she couldn't take books in the bath.) Wanda carried her bag to her room and shoved it into her closet. She changed out of her school clothes, put on a pair of shorts and a pretty T-shirt Grandma had sent. Then she went down the hall to the playroom.

Though the twins had outgrown most of their old toys, the playroom still held the honour of being their favourite place in the world. It had seemed bigger when they were younger, but Wanda reasoned that just meant they had grown into it. The twins liked to think they were very grown up and sophisticated to have their own extra room. Depending on the book of the week, it had been a Victorian sitting room, a medieval throne room and a Renaissance studio (much to Mutti's chagrin, and to the detriment of their old couch, a victim of the new age of thinking and an overturned paint palate). Wanda went to the second of two bookshelves and pulled _Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm_. She curled up on their new old couch and opened to the tale of the little brother who became a fawn, which was her favourite.

A while later Pietro came in, wearing jeans and a faded green T-shirt. He threw himself down on the other end of the couch. Wanda, who had just gotten to the good bit in _The Willow Wren and the Bear_ , sighed. Three, two, one...

"I'm bored."

"Don't say that already, it's only the first day."

"I know, but... I'm bored."

"Then you'll just have to entertain yourself, won't you?" Wanda said primly, echoing their mother. Then she grinned behind her book. "...Little brother."

Pietro scowled.

"Don't call me that."

"Okay, _mon petit_ _frere_."

It took him a second to work that one out. Wanda giggled silently into her pages.

"Wanda..." Pietro ground her name between his teeth. His fingers closed on the nearest couch cushion. Wanda squeaked.

"Okay! Okay. I'm sorry." Wanda put on her most innocent face. Pietro gave her a narrow look, but he let go of the cushion. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

"I'm still bored."

Wanda put her book aside.

"Would you like a drink? I'll bring you something," she said sweetly.

Pietro lifted his head in surprise. Then he smiled and put it back down.

"Sure. See if we have any soda in the fridge?"

"Anything for you." Wanda leaned closer. Pietro's lips twitched. "...Little brother."

Quick as a flash his hand darted for the cushion, but Wanda was ready. She parried the blow with her own cushion and then threw it at his face. Pietro spluttered. Wanda fled the room, laughing.

A fatal miscalculation on her part; Pietro gave chase, roaring, now armed with both cushions. Wanda shrieked and skittered down the stairs, swung clear around the bannister and hurtled down the hall. If she could reach the back door and the hose in the garden she might have a chance. The cushions would dry. They were old veterans of this battle, after all.

Pietro slid into her path, grinning, a pillow brandished in each hand. Oh, the daredevil – he'd snuck through Vati's office. Wanda veered left into the kitchen and put the island between them. They were engaged in the avoidance dance when their mother came through the back door.

“Oh, we're not starting early this summer, are we?” she said with a laugh. Pietro tried to hide the cushions behind his back. Wanda nearly fell over laughing.

The twins called a truce and Pietro ran the cushions back to the playroom. When he returned, they helped their mother organize her work bag. Marya Frank worked part-time at a fabric store a few blocks from their home. The twins loved to see the bits and bobs she brought from the scrap bin – brightly patterned cotton and gauzy chiffon, pebbled denim and silk. Mutti once brought home a piece of crimson taffeta, which she used to make a scrunchie for Wanda's hair. Most of the time, though, she used the scraps to make patches for Vati's bicycling pants. (The twins privately found this hilarious.)

“Why don't you two go play a nice, quiet game while I make dinner?” Mutti said when they had finished.

The twins shared a glance.

“Yes, Mutti.”

An hour later – after the most rousing game of Carcassone ever played – Wanda and Pietro heard Mutti calling them. They declared the game moribund and went downstairs.

“Could the two of you set the table, please?” Mutti said. “Your Vati called, he's picking up a surprise for us.”

A surprise! Wanda ran to the dining room for the silverware. Pietro brought plates from the cupboard, and together they arranged the settings. They had just finished when Vati came home.

Robert Frank set down his backpack and stretched his arms over his head.

“Ohh, that's another day won,” he said. The twins hugged him, one on each side.

“What's the surprise?” Pietro always had to know everything instantly.

Vati laughed.

“Come into the kitchen so your mother can hear too.”

Mutti had just taken the chicken out of the oven.

“What's all the fuss about?” she said as Vati kissed her on the cheek.

“Well, you'll want to put that down first.” Vati waited until they were all listening. (Pietro couldn't contain his fidgets. Wanda put a hand over his to still him.)

“I've been promoted.”

The twins gasped. Mutti looked surprised.

“Really? After all your other tries, they just...?”

“I know!” Vati beamed. “I couldn't believe it myself. I guess something finally got through to them. I'm going to be a floor manager.” Vati worked in an automotive plant. “My training is on Monday. And next month there will be a substantial something extra in the bank.” This he said with a wink to Mutti.

Pietro sat up very fast.

“A million Euros?” he asked breathlessly.

Wanda felt a jolt. Could he mean...?

“Pietro, we don't ask things like that,” Mutti said. But Vati laughed.

“Not quite a millionaire yet, son,” he said. “But it is a fair number for the work I'll be doing.” He stroked his chin and looked thoughtful. Then he jumped. “Ah, I forgot! I picked up some ice cream to celebrate.” He hurried into the hall.

“Well, what a lovely way to start the summer,” Mutti said. “Wash your hands and be sure to congratulate Vati, okay?” She turned to putting the chicken breasts on a plate.

Neither of the twins moved. Pietro looked at Wanda with awe in his eyes.

“Did you...?”

Wanda nodded slowly. Something strange was happening inside her. It felt like the time she had been standing at the corner waiting for the light. A teenager pulled up in his car. His music, rather than blaring through the windows, had thumped through the asphalt and up through Wanda's feet. Even across the street her insides felt jumpy. The same thing was happening now, and it was because Vati's heavy footfalls were coming back to the kitchen.

“Here we go,” he said. “We'll have it for dessert.” And he put a carton of cookie dough ice cream into the freezer.

Wanda gripped Pietro's hand very hard. Mutti turned from the stove and jumped to find Wanda and Pietro still sitting there.

“Goodness, what's the matter with you two? Go wash, quick! The food is ready.”

Together the twins slipped off their stools. First Wanda, then Pietro hugged their father, both of them grinning ear to ear.

“Congratulations, Vati.”

“Good for you, Vati.”

Then they fled upstairs.

As soon as they reached the bathroom, Pietro caught Wanda's shoulders. Wanda curled her fingers into his shirt.

“Did you see? Did you _see?”_ Wanda said, the words tumbling out in a whisper.

“Did you do that?” Pietro's voice squeaked.

“I don't know! I wished for this back at school. The ice cream, and... but it wasn't a _million_ Euros...”

“Well, no, of course not,” Pietro said practically. “Maybe it couldn't come all at once. Maybe having a raise means that Vati will be able to save up a million Euros.”

“Yes, that's it!” Wanda ignored for the moment how quickly Pietro had changed his opinion on wishes. “That must be it. _Mein Gott,_ Pietro, what am I going to do?”

“Uh, wish for more stuff?”

“No. Well, yes. But I mean, what if I only get three? Isn't that the rule?”

“I think that's only in fiction,” Pietro said.

“What if I only get one more?”

Pietro looked flummoxed. He shrugged.

“Then you better wish for something good.”

“Wanda! Pietro? Hurry up, _lieblings_!”

The twins turned automatically toward the sink. Wanda felt like she had before her not-recital – as though a heap of expectation has been placed upon her.

“Pietro, you have to help me,” she hissed above the sound of the water.

Pietro thought about it as he dried his hands.

“Come to my room tonight,” he said. “We'll figure it out then.

 

 

That night, Wanda waited until Mutti and Vati had gone out onto the porch to enjoy the summer's evening. With all quiet, she crept down the hall into Pietro's room.

The twins had been furious when, at eight years old, Mutti insisted Pietro be given his own room.

“You're getting too big for one room,” she said, “and before you know it you'll want your own space.” She and Vati bought furniture and haggled over paint chips, deaf to the twins's protests. The guest room moved to the basement, and the new room began to take shape. Pietro refused to even look at it for the first three weeks.

“They're ruining _everything,”_ he groused, his little pointed face twisted up in a scowl. Neither he nor Wanda could put exactly into words what it was their parents were ruining. They had simply always been together. They knew no other way.

Finally the day came. Pietro and Wanda clung to each other as though Pietro were moving across the country instead of down the hall. But by much coaxing, Mutti and Vati separated them and tucked each into their own bed.

“But _why_ can't we share anymore?” Wanda asked for the seventeenth time.

“You can still share all you like,” Vati said cheerfully. “But some things are better to have for yourself. A room is one of them. Don't you think?”

“No I _don't_ think,” Wanda said. She crossed her arms and turned her face away.

Vati chuckled.

“You'll get used to it, liebling.” He kissed her forehead. “Sleep well.”

Wanda said nothing. When the light was off and the door closed over, she kicked off her covers in a huff. She wasn't afraid. She _wasn't._ Only that the room seemed so much bigger without Pietro, darker and empty.

The one thing Pietro liked about the new room was the windowseat. He had always wanted one, covered in cushions, so he could nap without having to remake his bed all the time. Mutti even made him a special set of curtains. They brushed the floor, and he could draw them around the seat, blocking it off entirely. Three days after the move, Wanda heard Mutti remark to Vati that she was pleased the twins had taken to the separation so well.

Wanda had just smiled. They hadn't let a little hallway stop them.

“Wanda? Over here.”

As silently as she could, Wanda shut Pietro's door and tiptoed to the windowseat. As Pietro adjusted the curtains, Wanda drew her knees up and leaned forward, unable to contain herself.

“What if the wishes are real?”

Pietro tucked his feet under the cushions by Wanda's hip. He bit his lip and stared out the window while he thought.

“We've got to figure out some way to test it,” he said. “We'll think up a really good wish, something brilliant, in case you only get three. Then you can wish for something else and see if that comes true. If it does, we'll know you've got more than three.”

“What should I wish for?”

For a little while they thought about it. And made suggestions, and argued, and thought some more. Pietro kept saying the words “lifetime supply”, until Wanda pointed out that having a lifetime supply of anything dumped onto the front lawn _might_ alert their parents about what they were up to. Pietro might argue details until the sun came up, but on this point he and Wanda were in completely agreement – the wishes were their secret, no question.

At long last Pietro snapped his fingers.

“I've got it,” he said. “Phones.”

“You want me to wish for a _phone?”_ Wanda said.

“Personal phones. You know.”

“Mutti said we were too young.”

“Do you feel too young?” Pietro said in a flat tone. “C'mon, work with me here.”

“We _would_ be able to talk to each other any time...” Wanda mused. “And Mutti always said she didn't like us going further than the park because it might not be safe. But if we had phones...”

“Exactly. It'll be fun _and_ useful. So you wouldn't be wasting the wish if it's the only one you have left.”

“And then I wish for something else?”

“Yeah. If it comes true, you're golden.”

Wanda thought about this.

“Maybe I'm some kind of genie,” she said.

“I'd say more like a witch,” Pietro replied, matter-of-fact.

“Oh _that's_ nice!” Wanda stuck her nose in the air. “I _was_ going to wish a phone for you too, you know.”

“Not a bad witch!” Pietro said hastily. “A good witch. A pretty witch. Like Galinda.”

Wanda wrinkled her nose.

“Galinda's too froufy.”

Pietro rubbed his forehead.

“This is why Vati says to be careful complimenting women.”

“Well, _Mutti_ says a man should only compliment if he genuinely means it,” Wanda retorted. “So there.”

The twins stuck their tongues out at each other in unison. Pietro turned his face sulkily to the window. But Wanda began to giggle.

“ _You_ think Galinda is pretty.”

Pietro's face turned bright red in the half-light of the rising moon. He spluttered in protest, which only made Wanda giggle harder.

“Yeah, well, I think you're prettier,” Pietro said, so low Wanda almost missed it. She stopped giggling at once.

“Really?”

“Duh. You're my sister. You're always going to be prettier than dumb old Galinda.”

Wanda blushed and didn't know what to say. So she leaned over and kissed his cheek. Pietro tolerated this with good humour; in fact he looked almost pleased.

“I'm going to wish now,” Wanda said softly.

“Okay.”

(Later, so much later, when given the chance to choose her _real_ name, Wanda would think back on this conversation and _know._ When she says it aloud, Pietro's mouth curves in approval. She has chosen well.)

 

  

So the long days of summer stretched one into the other, until Wanda lost track both of them and of the number of her wishes. The phones gave them freedom like never before. So long as they were together, Mutti permitted them to wander father afield, even taking the tram into town for a day of window-shopping. They bought ice creams and argued over which ships to visit (while ultimately visiting them all). They spent their pocket money at the book shops, combing the shelves for just the right read to suit the mood of the day. Then they sat on the grass in the park and read and read and read. At five thirty Vati called them, and they ran to the station to meet him so they could all take the tram home together. It was bliss.

On one such outing Wanda casually informed Pietro that her fourth wish had come true, and that they might expect infinite wishes from now on. Though Pietro pestered her for a week, Wanda refused to tell him what the wish had been; not out of spite, but because she did not understand it herself. She only knew it had been made in her secret heart, and that it had much to do with him, and the way she felt when he took her hand and pulled her along in his excitement. She did not mind being the slower now, but she felt a prickling unease that someday he might no longer be willing to wait for her; and so she had made the wish so they would be safe.

(For years she would wonder if what came after was penance for the selfishness of that fourth wish.)

One day in the middle of June Pietro came home in a grand snit. He stormed into the twins' playroom, kicked his runners into a corner and threw himself down beside Wanda on the rug. Wanda, who had long grown used to his fits of impatience and who was deeply immersed in the adventures of Anne Shirley from Canada, turned a page.

“What is it?” she said, once he had stopped snorting like a boar.

“Dirk said he didn't believe I won the _Landesmeisterschaft,”_ Pietro said. “So I challenged him to a race and--”

“Lost,” Wanda said at the same time as he. Pietro glared. Wanda smiled and tucked her bookmark between the pages. “Why didn't you just show him the trophy?”

“Because... well, it's not the _same,_ is it?” Pietro said in the tone of one who wished he had thought of that himself. “Just because you win one race, people expect you to win _all_ of them.”

“Dirk's bigger than you,” Wanda said practically. “You shouldn't have challenged him if you weren't absolutely sure.”

“I _was_ sure! I'd have won if my shoelace hadn't come loose.” You could have hung a pail from Pietro's lower lip. He crossed his arms. “I wish you'd make his feet fall off.”

Wanda flicked his ear hard. Pietro shied away.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“That's a horrible wish,” Wanda said. “Don't ask for anything like that again.”

“Okay, okay...”

“Good.” Wanda sniffed haughtily and returned to her book. Pietro sat beside her in silence, his knees drawn up and his brow furrowed. Suddenly he snapped his fingers.

“Say, I know! You could wish me to be the fastest runner in the world!”

“No.” Wanda put her nose into her book and turned away.

“Aw, come on Wanda. Please? It won't hurt anybody if we do it that way. And I won't run in _every_ race – then other people will get a chance.”

“It's still cheating,” Wanda said crossly. She felt a headache coming on. Sometimes, when she wished for something without thinking first, a migraine would come back and wallop her behind the eyes. At least the red flashes had been minimal of late.

“Oh, you're no fun.” Pietro threw up his hands and flopped over onto his face. He yanked a pillow over and screamed into it. Wanda rolled her eyes and closed her book.

“Well, I won't do it if you're going to be such a baby,” she said.

Like flicking a switch, Pietro's expression changed from sulky to hopeful, and he sat up so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. Wanda sighed, but she pulled him onto his feet with her. Then she took him by the shoulders and looked at him very seriously.

“Okay, but you have to _promise_ you won't cheat. And no running away from Mutti or Vati. You have to use your brain.” She rapped her knuckles lightly against his forehead. “I'm serious. Promise right now.”

Pietro closed one eye and giggled. Wanda grabbed him by the face and made him look her in the eyes.

“ _Promise_ me, Pietro.”

He smiled up at her, all white teeth and eagerness. He had yet to catch up to her in height, which made her feel both grateful and all the more responsible for him. She didn't really believe it would work. But when he smiled like that she wanted to try.

Then Pietro did something he had never done before. He laid his left hand on her forearm and touched their foreheads together. The seriousness of such a gesture from her normally flippant brother took Wanda off guard.

“I promise.”

All of Wanda's doubts fled. She pulled him to the open floor and made him stand still. He trembled with excitement. She took his hands; he held them so tightly it hurt, but when she said, “Ready?” he nodded without hesitation.

So Wanda closed her eyes and wished.

After a minute or two Pietro said, “I don't feel any different.” Wanda squeezed her eyelids tight shut and wished harder. _Make him the fastest runner in the world. Make him faster than a train, as fast as the wind._ And then another thought slipped in: _Make him special like me._

“Wanda?”

Wanda opened her eyes, startled by his plaintive tone. Pietro stared, his body angled away from her though he still held her hands. Frightened, Wanda looked down at their hands.

His were pale and normal. Hers glowed.

Wanda let go. Bright pain bloomed in her temples and sent her gasping to her knees. Her ears popped. She heard Pietro call her name, muffled by the roaring in her ears. The room darkened. Pietro stood frozen, poised to flee. She met his eyes and saw reflected in them a figure wreathed in scarlet light. Wanda reached toward him.

The scarlet figure reached back.

“Pietro? _”_

Then the light exploded.

Three minutes later their parents stumbled into the playroom, aghast, shouting questions. Not a thing had been touched except the shelves, which had crumpled on impact. Wanda knelt there, in a rain of books, sobbing over the limp form of her brother.


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

 

She doesn't remember how they got to the hospital. She thinks Vati may have driven them; she's sure she would have recalled the flashing lights of an ambulance. But that short trip is now a skewed spot – the first of many - in the film reel of her mind, as though someone knocked the projector askew. Images peppered the blackness – Pietro on a gurney, a nurse shouting numbers, Mutti's stony gaze, Vati's grim chin – as she tried desperately to adjust for this new picture.

She had hurt Pietro very badly, and she did not even know how.

One thing stood out, however, strongly enough to push the reel forward again. The doctor returned after only twenty minutes. Mutti and Vati stood up fast; Wanda, sick with guilt, could not move. The doctor spoke to her parents in low voices. Wanda shut her eyes, expecting at any moment to hear Mutti wail with grief. (She had read of funerals in her stories, women shrouded in black, ululations and torn hair and dirt. She could not imagine her beautiful mother in such a state because of her.) But when the wail didn't come a tiny part of her grew curious. She opened one eye, then both in shock, because all three of them were looking at her.

“Mutti, what is it?” Wanda cried, frightened.

Her mother seemed to shake herself out of her thoughts. She smiled tightly and crouched beside Wanda's chair.

“Pietro is going to be all right, _liebling_ ,” she said. “Herr Doktor Abendroth says he's just sleeping. But we need to know what the two of you were playing with that exploded.”

Wanda looked at her mother. She looked at her father and then at the doctor's face. He offered her an encouraging little smile, but his eyes asked questions. How could she answer? What could she say?

“It's all right, Wanda,” Mutti said. “We're not angry. Just tell us what it was. It's very important and will help Pietro. Go on.”

If she lied the doctor might make a mistake. Pietro's condition might get worse. Wanda began to cry.

“It's my fault,” she said. “It was me. I wished too hard. The wish exploded and hit Pietro. I'm sorry, Mutti. I'm so sorry.”

She expected her mother to look shocked. Instead Mutti got that look like when Pietro had worn through his sixth pair of shoes only three weeks into the summer.

“Wanda, _liebling,_ I don't understand--”

“Begging your pardon, Frau Frank.” The doctor crouched beside Mutti and smiled at Wanda. “With your permission, my dear.” He took a penlight and shined it into her eyes. “Has she been given medical attention? She may have a concussion.”

“Why, I never thought of that,” Mutti murmured. “Everything happened so quickly, and she was awake when we found them...”

“She may have been caught by the blast. She's clearly confused.”

“I'm _not!”_ Wanda stamped her foot. “That's what happened. There was a red light and then the wish exploded. I didn't mean to do it, I swear.”

The doctor nodded seriously. Then he looked at Mutti.

“Was there anything to indicate incendiary devices? Debris, scorch marks?”

“Well, no, actually. But the shelves were all broken. He looked like he had been thrown into them. She's not strong enough for that.”

“Hm. I'll give Pietro an MRI just in case. And I'd like to recommend a child psychologist, if that's all right. She may need help sorting through the trauma.”

Wanda put her head down, unable to argue through her tears.

 

 

Pietro woke the following day. He had a goose egg on the back of his head and he couldn't remember anything after his race with Dirk. Mutti fawned over him and Vati shook the doctor's hand very hard. They brought him home, tucked him into bed with water and aspirin to rest. Vati took time off work. Mutti drank a lot of chamomile tea at the kitchen island.

That first night, Wanda slipped into the hall and padded toward Pietro's room. Mutti leaned in Pietro's doorway, her hand over her mouth. Wanda stopped in the shadows behind her. Vati came up the stairs with a mug of steaming liquid. He put his arm around Mutti and handed her the mug. Then he looked at Wanda, so strangely that Wanda felt like an intruder.

“Go to bed, love,” Vati said. “Pietro is sleeping.”

He did not raise his voice, but he didn't smile either. Wanda looked at him and saw, for the first time, that she made him nervous.

She fled back to her room, crawled under the covers and wept until she fell asleep.

She did not see Pietro for three days. Vati came in twice, to bring her food and to ask her again what had happened. Wanda wouldn't speak to him. Words choked her. She spent the hours sleeping or staring out of her window. She didn't want to think. She only wanted to know Pietro would be all right.

On the third night she had fallen asleep before the sun went down. She woke, groggy, feeling ill. She got out of bed and went to the bathroom, drank a cup of water and felt better. Summer had come on strong while she was occupied with other things. Now it permeated the house like an unwanted guest. Her pyjamas stuck to her. She went back into her room and cracked the window for air. Then everything rushed back to her.

Vati had told her she would have an appointment with a 'special doctor' to help her talk about the accident. That was how they referred to it now – The Accident. As though it had not been her fault. No, not quite – like it _was_ her fault but they were being polite and didn't want to remind her of it. Their politeness reminded her more than if they had just come out and said it. Wanda was tired of the whole thing. She wanted to forget it all, to return to the summer she had envisioned with Pietro. But Pietro was hurt and it was her fault. Round and round the carousel she went.

Wanda slumped against the window. The glass felt cool for a moment before her sweaty forehead warmed it. She pushed her hair back and thought about sleeping there in the windowseat instead of in bed. She drew her bare feet up, pushed cushions into place. She had slept poorly already. What did it matter?

“Wanda?”

Wanda shot wide awake. Pietro listed through her doorway, a slender ghost in the moonlight. For one terrifying second she thought he had come to haunt her. Then he squinted at her.

“Why are you out of bed?” she whispered. The words squeaked between her teeth.

“Why didn't you come visit me?” he countered with some of his usual impatience, tempered though it was by the grit of his teeth. He touched the back of his head gingerly and staggered toward her bed. Wanda clambered off the windowseat to join him.

“Vati said we had to let you rest. How's your head?”

“Hurts,” Pietro said, but he settled on her pillows with a comfortable sigh. “I'm bored with my room and Mutti won't leave me alone.”

“You're really injured, Pietro,” Wanda said. “Mutti's worried. We all are.”

“I'm fine. Why didn't you come visit me?” Pietro asked again. Despite her fear of Mutti catching Pietro out of bed, and her great relief that he was well enough to snark at her, Wanda felt her ire rise at his tone. He didn't remember what had happened, but she did.

“Oh, how could I? It's my fault you got hurt. And now Mutti and Vati want to send me to some doctor for my brain. They think I'm crazy. Vati gave me the strangest look the other night. They didn't believe me when I told them about the wish. And you don't even remember it so you can't tell them either. And now _you're_ looking at me like I'm crazy!”

But Pietro shook his head. He winced and closed one eye like he was looking down a telescope at something far away.

“You wished for me,” he said slowly, and Wanda's heart soared. “I remember now. You wished for me to be the fastest in the world.”

“Yes, that's it!” Wanda hugged him tight and burst into tears. Pietro grunted in pain. Wanda let go very quickly, but she could not stem the tide. “Sorry, sorry...”

“Aw, Wanda.” Pietro was a soft touch for tears. The first time he made Wanda cry, at four years old, he had been so startled and looked so guilty that she laughed almost at once. He had brought back her Lilly doll, which he had taken hostage, and he even helped smooth Lilly's little dress. He never stole Lilly again. Now he looked at Wanda like _he_ was to blame, which was almost worse.

“Are you afraid of me?” she whispered.

Pietro pursed his lips. Wanda's heart dropped into her gut. He might resent her ability to wish. He might even hate her for it. She wondered if people who weren't born a pair felt like this all the time. But even as she thought this horrible lonely thing, his expression softened.

“You're my sister. Aren't I supposed to be afraid of you?”

Wanda snorted and gave him a little push.

“I thought you might not want to be twins anymore,” she said.

The shock on his face was oddly reassuring. Clearly he could not imagine it either. Wanda shrugged, guilty that she had thought so little of him.

“We... we're _always_ going to be twins,” Pietro said. “That can't change. I won't let it.” He set his jaw in the infamously stubborn way which made their mother sigh. Wanda wiped her eyes and smiled.

“Me neither.”

 

 

The next morning Mutti informed them that Frau von Hauser would be coming to stay with Pietro during Wanda's appointment.

“ _What?”_ Pietro cried, with all the indignation he could muster.

“She'll be here any minute. I expect you to behave for her, Pietro.”

“But I _have_ to come with you!” Pietro said. “I remembered everything last night. I have to help explain about the wish!”

Mutti gave him a sharp, startled look. Then she turned on Wanda.

“What have you been telling him?”

Wanda stared. Pietro stamped his foot to bring Mutti's attention back to him.

“She didn't tell me, I _remembered.”_ He looked at Mutti's face and decided more insistence was in order. “I'm coming too.”

“No, Shortstop,” Vati said, coming in from the kitchen. “This is just for Wanda. But we'll bring you back some _windbeutel_ from town.”

“But _Vati--”_

The doorbell rang.

“We'll talk about this later, Pietro,” Mutti hissed with a warning look. Then she smiled and opened the door.

As Frau von Hauser stepped inside, Wanda leaned over to Pietro.

“Thanks for trying,” she whispered.

Pietro looked sullen. Normally he adored Frau von Hauser and her little dackel, Arno. But today he shied away when she tried to ruffle his hair. Wanda caught sight of him, his nose pressed to the front window, as the car pulled out of the drive.

Forty minutes later they arrived at a modern office building in Mannheim. A raised walkway connected the parking lot to the building's entrance, which was shaped like a cyclone in front. Wanda peered into the river which ran under the walkway, but the foaming waters offered no distraction. She dragged her feet until Mutti called for her to catch up. What would the doctor be like? Would he want to give her a shot? Would he think she was crazy too?

They took the elevator to the fourth floor. Wanda expected cold grey walls and stern signs – _Rauchen verboten._ No smoking. _Handys verboten._ No cell phones. _W_ _ü_ _nschen verboten._ No wishes. But the doors opened onto a room painted in warm colours. Two brown leather couches invited them in. A glass vase full of coloured stones sat on the square table between them. Mutti spoke to the woman behind the desk. Wanda sat down on one of the couches and peered at the stones. The vase had ripples in it. Wanda closed one eye and moved her head so the glass distorted the stones.

“Herr Frank, Frau Frank? I'm Doktor Ziegler.”

Wanda did an about-face. Ziegler wore suspenders and a cheerful smile. He was missing most of his right thumb. Wanda noticed when he shook her hand as though she were an adult. Ziegler caught her looking and winked.

“Ahh, so you've spotted my missing piece, have you?” He wiggled the stub. Wanda wrinkled her nose, fascinated. “Lost it when I was a boy. Strange story, remind me to tell you sometime. Come in, come in.”

Ziegler's office smelled like peppermint, or perhaps that was the man himself. As they sat down on brown leather – matching again! - Wanda couldn't quite decide what to make of him. She had expected a lab coat and stethoscope at least. But Ziegler's tools were nothing more frightening than an ordinary notebook and a pen. Wanda wondered if he would make her do arithmetic to test her intelligence. Surely crazy people couldn't do arithmetic?

Ziegler uncapped his pen. He opened to a new page in his notebook. Then he smiled at Wanda.

“Don't mind the pages, my friend,” he said, “they're just to help me remember things. Have you been to see a psychologist before?”

“No, she hasn't,” Mutti said, before Wanda could speak up.

“I see.” Ziegler jotted something down. Then he set the notebook aside and folded his hands in his lap. “In that case, it behooves me to explain a little about what we're doing here.

Wanda, my job isn't to tell you how to feel – only to help you reflect on your feelings. Think of me as an impartial mirror. You can tell me anything that's on your mind. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Now, I need you to tell me exactly what happened when your brother had his accident. Start from the beginning if you can, or wherever is the most important. When you're ready.”

Faced with so much choice, Wanda suddenly didn't know how to begin. Should she talk about the accident alone? Or about the first time she wished? Suddenly all the details seemed both vital and superfluous. Doktor Ziegler might not believe her anyway. Wanda kicked her heel against the couch and stared at a shiny spot on Ziegler's brown shoes.

“Wanda, _liebling_ ,” Mutti said in her 'polite warning' voice. “Doktor Ziegler's time is very important.” When Wanda failed to say anything, Mutti turned to Ziegler. “She told us that she wished something for her brother, Pietro, and that the wish--”

Ziegler held up a hand.

“With all due respect, Frau Frank,” he said, “I'd prefer to hear it in Wanda's own words.”

Wanda stared. Mutti closed her mouth very quickly. Vati swiped a hand over his moustache.

“Let's go get a coffee, Marya,” he said, “and let these two talk.”

“My secretary would be happy to offer you coffee or tea,” Ziegler said cheerfully. “We'll just be here.”

Mutti looked like she wanted to protest, but she nodded and went with Vati. Wanda watched the door close behind them. She turned back to Ziegler, incredulous, to find him observing her.

“There, that's better, isn't it?” Ziegler stood up. “Would you like some tea, Frauline Wanda?”

He called her Frauline! And offered her tea as though she were a grown up. Wanda straightened her shoulders and folded her hands in her lap.

“Yes please,” she said.

The tea turned out to be the source of the peppermint smell. Wanda blew gently to cool it and took small sips, careful not to slurp. It was very good. Ziegler sat down across from her. He stirred his tea, took a long sip and set his mug aside. Then he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and folded his hands together. Wanda waited in a sense of anticipation. She wasn't at all afraid.

“Wanda, tell me about your brother's accident.”

Free at last, Wanda poured out the whole story. She told him about the ice cream, and Vati's promotion. She told him about the red sparks. She tried to explain how it worked – how sometimes what came out wasn't what she expected. But when it came to describing how she had knocked Pietro out, she faltered. How could she explain this thing when she didn't understand it herself?

“It's all right,” Ziegler said when she voiced this. “Let's move away from the accident for now.”

He asked her a lot of questions about herself; about her schooling, her hobbies, what she and Pietro liked to do on summer vacation. Slowly he brought the conversation around and asked even more questions about the accident. Wanda fidgeted and answered, answered and fidgeted, but the questions seemed to go in circles. Finally Wanda gave up.

"Can't I just show you?" She asked.

Ziegler smiled like she had finally answered correctly.

"Well, I wouldn't like to be thrown into a wall," he said, making her flush hotly. "But let's see. My birthday is tomorrow. I think I would like a cake - yes, a chocolate cake from Haversham's down the road. Will you wish me a cake, Wanda?"

Wanda thought he might be laughing at her. _Serve him right if I did throw him,_ she thought darkly. Then she remembered the purplish bump on Pietro's head and shuddered. A cake couldn't do any harm. So Wanda closed her eyes and wished, but hesitantly. She couldn't be sure it had worked. The red light did not appear, which both relieved and disappointed her. She opened her eyes and held up her chin as best she could.

"Sometimes it doesn't happen right away," she warned him.

"That's all right. Do you mind if I ask you a few more questions while we wait?"

Wanda sighed.

By the end of the session, the cake had not arrived. Ziegler kept looking about as though he expected it to appear on his desk. He checked his watch, folded his hands and smiled at her again.

"I'm afraid we're out of time, Wanda," he said cheerfully. "I don't suppose that cake is on its way?"

"I don't know," Wanda said, sullen.

"All right. Maybe next time we can talk about why it didn't show up." He rose from his seat and escorted her to the door. He put his hand on the knob and looked down at her.

"You know, playing make believe can be a lot of fun. But it might be time to step into the real world now that you're growing up. Don't you think?"

He opened the door and ushered her out before Wanda could reply.

Doktor Ziegler spoke to Mutti and Vati in his office for a long time. Wanda pressed her ear to the door. She caught the words "rationalized" and "trauma" but not much else. She sighed and went back to her seat. She wanted to get home and see Pietro. At least he knew the truth.

 

 

The call came at dinner. Mutti ignored the phone until it stopped ringing. But while the twins were doing the dishes, it rang again. Mutt I picked it up and started.

"Oh, Herr Doktor. _Guten Abend_."

Pietro blessedly stopped rattling dishes in the water. Both twins strained their ears.

“Yes...” Mutti sounded hesitant. “Oh, I see. Very well.” She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Wanda! Herr Doktor Ziegler would like to speak to you.”

" _Guten Abend_ ," Wanda said, remembering to be polite.

"Wanda, my friend." Doktor Ziegler sounded cheerful. "I must apologize to you. You were right. Your wish came true."

Wanda gasped. "You mean about the--"

"The cake, yes. I'm looking at it right now. It arrived fifteen minutes ago from Haversham's. I'm very impressed. It's a lovely present, Wanda, thank you."

"You're welcome," Wanda said, feeling very pleased with herself.

"Now, I was wondering something," Zeigler said. "I have a colleague who works with special children like yourself. Would you like to come out to the hospital in Mosbach and demonstrate your gift for him? He'll just want to see it and ask you some questions. It would be sort of like an experiment. Do you take science in school?"

Wanda nodded, forgetting he couldn't see her. "Oh yes."

"Wonderful. I'll explain the whole thing to your mother, don't worry. This will be very helpful to both of us, Wanda. Thank you."

"Okay." Feeling vaguely dazed, Wanda handed the phone back to Mutti. She heard Doktor Ziegler's voice faintly through the mouthpiece as she walked away.

In the kitchen she picked up the dishtowel again. Pietro, still soapy up to his elbows, leaned over.

"Well?" He whispered.

"He wants me to visit his hospital," Wanda whispered back. Then Vati came in and she didn't dare say anymore. Pietro looked taken aback, then worried in a way that made her feel warm. He really could be sweet when he wanted to. She gestured for him to hurry with the dishes. They breezed through the rest; then Wanda pulled Pietro by the hand into the hall.

"It's not bad," she explained, still half-whispering. "I wished for him during the session today. He called to tell me it came true - it just took a little while, that's all."

Pietro frowned.

"He can't just make you wish for whatever he wants."

Wanda folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. Pietro blushed.

"That's different," he muttered. "You can just tell me off. But he's a grown-up. Grown ups aren't supposed to."

"Supposed to what?" Wanda said. "At least he believes me. He's the only adult who _does_."

Just then Mutti called her name. Wanda sighed.

"I just want to show Mutti and Vati that it's not all bad. I wish for nice things too. What happened was an accident, that's all. But now I feel like they're afraid of me too." She wrapped her arms around herself and shuffled into the living room.

“Come sit down, _liebling_ ,” Mutti said. She and Vati sat together on the couch. They didn't make room, so Wanda sat on the ottoman by their feet. Pietro loitered in the doorway.

“Wanda,” Mutti began, “Doktor Ziegler would like for you to visit a hospital with him tomorrow--”

“I know,” Wanda said. “He wants me to wish for him. It worked, you see. He said he would explain it to you.”

Mutti smiled weakly.

“Yes. Well. It would have to be an overnight stay. Are you all right with that?”

“I told him I was.” Wanda frowned. “I think. Anyway, so long as I show him my wishes--”

“Oh Wanda...” Mutti pinched the bridge of her nose. She did that a lot these days, Wanda noticed. Vati put his arm around her again.

“Marya...”

“No, Robert. I don't like this at all.” Mutti looked at Wanda imploringly. “Wanda, _liebling_... you know wishes can only come true if you work hard at them, don't you? There's no magic about it. It's when you plan and decide what you want to do with your life--”

“But _her_ wishes are different!” Pietro had decided to make his opinion known. “She did it for real. It didn't work that time, but it knocked me into a wall so it _must_ be real! And it's worked other times too. Like the ice cream.”

Wanda smiled gratefully at her brother. Mutti and Vati both frowned.

“Yeah!” Pietro ploughed on. “She wished for ice cream one time and then Vati brought it home. It was the right kind too.”

“Pietro, that makes no sense,” Mutti said, exasperated. “I can't just wish for ice cream to appear.”

“ _You_ can't. Wanda can. And it didn't _appear._ I told you, Vati brought it home.”

Vati looked like he was trying to remember which ice cream it had been.

“You mean the cookie dough I brought when I got promoted?” he asked.

“Yes!” Pietro threw up his hands like he had just conquered a particularly stubborn math question. “Wanda wished for that specifically. And she wished for money too. Look what happened.”

Vati suddenly looked intrigued. Wanda thrilled a little to see it. But Mutti shook her head.

“We'll see what Doktor Ziegler says after your trip, Wanda.”

“Oh, come _on--”_

“ _No,_ Pietro, that is the end of it!”

Wanda and Pietro both jumped and fell silent. Mutti closed her eyes and drew a breath.

Vati stroked his short beard.

“Hang on, now. They obviously feel that _something_ happened--”

“Robert, please.”

“I could show you,” Wanda said, in a small voice. “I mean, it doesn't always work, but--”

“No, Wanda.” Mutti suddenly looked very tired. She knelt beside the ottoman and drew Wanda into her arms. “I'm sorry I shouted. Why don't you and your brother go upstairs for a little while, okay? Pietro, you can help her pack. Take two changes of clothes just in case and don't forget your toiletries.”

“Mama,” Wanda said. She put her hands on her mother's smooth cheeks. “Mama, it's real. I promise I'm not lying.”

“I know, darling,” Mutti said, but her eyes spoke differently. “We'll talk about it when you get home.”

In that moment Wanda saw that nothing she could say would convince Mutti of the truth. She felt winded, tripped from the comfortable view that her parents could handle anything and dunked into the cold realization that they were as confused as she was. Mutti must have seen some of this in her expression; she put out her hand to Wanda once more. But Pietro got there first, and took Wanda's hand.

“Come on."

He pulled her to her feet. Wanda looked back as he led her out of the room, wondering why Mutti didn't stop them. Why she didn't tell them everything would be okay.

She voiced this to Pietro in the upper hallway.

“Because it's _not_ going to be okay,” Pietro said. He looked truly angry. That didn't happen often – he held grudges only as long as he remembered them. He was crushing her fingers. Wanda took her hand back.

“I don't understand why they don't believe us.”

“Cause they're stupid _grown-ups,_ that's why.” Pietro shoved his hands in his pockets. He kicked the balustrade. His sneaker left a scuff on the trim. “You'd better go pack.” He shuffled down the hall.

Wanda walked into her room. She looked at her bed, at her toys, at the innumerable books scattered about. She went to the closet, retrieved her school knapsack and emptied it on the floor. A few broken pens and a candy wrapper fell out. She propped the bag open on the bed and looked around again. What to take? Pyjamas came last but she usually thought of them first. She got a notebook from her shelf and wrote the word down in her neatest school print.

To take: pyjamas.

After a moment's thought she added _toothbrush_ and then felt at a loss. She was going to a hospital that was not a hospital. What was the word? An asylum. But she wasn't crazy. She _wasn't._

All at once she wanted to rush downstairs and beg Mutti and Vati not to make her go. But she had chosen this. (Hadn't she?) After all, if she was _not_ crazy – and she wasn't – Doktor Ziegler's tests would confirm that. It was only an overnight stay. She was almost thirteen. She could handle a little trip.

 

 

The hospital, on the outside at least, looked so much like her school building that most of Wanda's anxiety evaporated. She sat forward to peer out the windshield as Vati steered the car along the circular drive and parked in a spot marked 'Visitor'.

“That doesn't look so bad,” she said.

Pietro pursed his lips.

“It looks like school.”

“Some of us _like_ school, Pietro.”

Doktor Ziegler met them on the front steps. He shook everyone's hand and welcomed them to the clinic, as he called it.

“You mean it's not a hospital?” Wanda asked as they went inside.

“Yes and no,” Doktor Ziegler replied. “This is where people come to stay while we adjust their medication. It gives them a little break from the world until they feel ready to face it again.”

“Oh,” Wanda said, subdued.

Doktor Ziegler took them on a tour of the lobby, the long corridors and the courtyard. This last formed the hollow centre of the building, a place of refuge among orchids and lily-of-the-valley. The sight of it seemed to ease something in Mutti's mind; she was an avid gardener herself and had just laid in a bed of zinnias before all the trouble started. She and Doktor Ziegler spent the rest of the walk discussing mulch. Pietro nudged Wanda and grinned.

The whole family dined with Doktor Ziegler in the main dining room. A few of the other patients joined them, much to Wanda's surprise. She found herself sitting beside a frail=looking woman with perpetual sadness in her eyes. She nibbled at a butter roll for most of the meal and stared at the same spot on the table. Wanda tried not to fidget. She eyed the rolls, wondering if it would be rude to take seconds, and jumped when the woman pushed the basket over. Looking up, Wanda saw that she was being observed, and blushed. The corner of the woman's mouth twitched. She whispered something Wanda couldn't hear. Intrigued despite herself, Wanda leaned closer.

“Why are you here?”

“I make wishes come true,” Wanda whispered. At once she wondered if she had been wise to reveal that. But the woman nodded sagely and nibbled her roll.

“Why are _you_ in here?” Wanda ventured to ask.

“I got tired of being out there,” the woman replied. A few minutes later she left the table, squeezing Wanda's wrist as she got up. Wanda felt inexplicably better, and she took a second roll after all.

After the meal Doktor Ziegler showed Wanda the room she would stay in. It was very plain, but there were what her mother called “good curtains” and a blue knitted afghan covered the bed. A sliding door led into a tiny bathroom. Not, on the whole, the horrid sterile environment Wanda had envisioned. She was told to leave her things, and then it was time to say goodbye.

In the vestibule Mutti and Vati stroked her hair and told her to help the doctor as best she could, since he was there to help her. Pietro said nothing, only looked at her with worried eyes. Wanda hugged him very tight.

“I'm afraid,” she whispered.

“It's okay. We'll come get you tomorrow,” he said into her ear. “I promise.”

Wanda watched from the window, craning her neck until the car went out of sight. Doktor Ziegler laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Come now and we'll begin.”

He led her to another room. This one contained an examination table and a computer. He took her vitals, listened to her heart with a stethoscope and shined a light into her eyes and ears. He chattered all the while and seemed not to expect an answer. Wanda gave none.

Then he went to a drawer and brought back a device not unlike the monitor Vati wore when he went bicycling. Doktor Ziegler strapped the monitor to Wanda's wrist and turned it on. He wrote something down on a clipboard. Then he took off his spectacles and tucked them in his front pocket.

“I need you to wear this all night,” he said. “We'll monitor you while you sleep to get an idea of your body's resting state. Tomorrow you must wish something extra special for me so I can see how it works. Okay?”

“Yes Doktor,” Wanda said.

“Good. Did you bring something to do in your room like I suggested?”

“I brought a book,” Wanda said.

“Wonderful! I'm an avid reader myself. Come along and we'll get you settled in.”

As they walked back to Wanda's room Doktor Ziegler explained further:

“Now please don't worry about the tests. Just do as you would normally do to prepare for bed. Take some deep breaths and relax. But you must leave the monitor on your wrist.” He opened Wanda's door and showed her a yellow button beside the light switch. “If you need anything urgently during the night, press this button and one of the attendants will come to you.”

“Okay,” Wanda said in a much quieter voice. She looked at the empty room and just managed not to wish herself home.

“You're being very brave, you know,” Ziegler said. Wanda looked back at him and smiled shyly.

“Thank you.”

“Sleep well.”

Then he shut the door. She heard a key turn in the lock and was afraid. But she clutched her bag and reasoned with herself that they would not want her wandering the hospital at night. She took out her pyjamas and got ready for bed. Then she went to the window.

It was a sliding one, where the bottom pushes up into the top. But the latch stuck and she could only budge it about an inch. Wanda laid her head upon her arms on the windowsill so that the breeze brushed her cheeks. Something whispered against the brick wall outside, startling her, but it was only the vines rustling in the lattice. She didn't know what she was doing here. She didn't want to show the doctor her ability. She missed Pietro already but she didn't dare wish. She couldn't do that anymore.

Finally, bored, Wanda took out her book and turned down the covers. The bed was too much like a hospital bed; it made her itch. She fluffed the pillows as best she could and hunkered down to join Anne Shirley on her adventures. Before she had even read a page, however, something thumped loudly at her window.

She looked up and nearly screamed. Pietro grinned back at her from the other side of the glass.

Wanda stared at him for a solid minute, stunned. How could he be here? Then his fingers curled under the pane and tried to heave it up, but hanging from the lattice as he was, he could not manage it alone. She scrambled out of bed and rushed to help.

“I knew you'd be up reading,” he said in a too-loud whisper. “Let me in!”

“I can't! The window's stuck.”

He gave her a pointed glance. Wanda bit her lip, but she couldn't very well leave him out there. She closed her eyes and wished. Then both of them heaved on the window. It slid up without a sound, and she helped Pietro scramble inside.

“You _dummkopf,_ you might have broken your neck!” Wanda immediately rendered her argument moot by throwing her arms around him hard enough to hurt.

“No I wouldn't,” Pietro replied at once. “I'm a good climber. _You_ might, though.” But he hugged her back just as tightly. When she let go he grinned. She had never seen his eyes so alight, not even when Vati had come back with the ice cream.

“I did it,” he said. “I did it, Wanda, it worked! I ran here from Vati's house. I watched the road on the drive home and remembered the way.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your wish! It worked! I'm the fastest in the world!”

What happened next she could not fathom for nearly half an hour. One second he stood before her, barefoot and beaming, and she was so happy to see him she thought him beautiful. Then a breeze ruffled her hair and the overhead light turned on, seemingly by itself. Pietro's chest swelled with pride.

“I don't understand,” she whispered, suddenly a little afraid of him. Perhaps he was a dream. Was she going mad after all? But Pietro took her hands and made her sit on the end of the bed.

“Watch me,” he said. “Watch closely.”

She tried. She tried very hard. But still she could not grasp how one moment he could be in front of her and the next across the room. He was patient with her and showed her many times; indeed he seemed eager to show off for her. He began to make funny faces, to stop still in ridiculous poses like a model in a fashion magazine. Wanda laughed and clapped her hands, and while she was distracted by his antics she began to see it out of the corner of her eye. How he would blur just as he took a step, the speed at which he spoke, and that odd breeze which he left in his wake.

 _Like a hummingbird when it flies past your ear,_ she thought, and finally understood.

“Pietro, this is wonderful.”

She blinked and he was at her side. He took her hands and held them tight. Wanda felt him tremble with energy.

“You did this,” he said, his voice full of awe. “Your wish worked. Thank you, sister. Thank you.” He hugged her again, tighter than before. For the first time since the accident she felt he had really forgiven her. Everything could now be as it was before, only better because there was this newness to both of them, something to explore. She felt that they were beginning an adventure together, just the two of them. She put her arms around his shoulders and could not stop smiling.

“Listen,” Pietro said as he pulled away. “Tonight I'll stay with you. Tomorrow I will convince the doctor you're not crazy. They will call Mutti and Vati to get us and we will go home.”

'What if they don't like it?” Wanda said. She had been thinking about the look on Mutti's face when the doctor recommended a child psychologist. She couldn't bear it if they liked Pietro's talent and not hers.

“Oh, don't worry about _that,_ ” Pietro said. “They only don't like it 'cause they don't _know._ Yours isn't as easy to see as mine. But I'll tell them you gave it to me. They'll see how amazing it is.”

He seemed so certain that Wanda's spirits revived. She giggled and turned down the covers for him, as she always did when something good had happened and he was too excited to sleep. Pietro turned off the lights and clambered in next to her, still talking, his bare feet cold against her leg.

How she wished, in the months which followed, that they could go back to that night. That they could be twelve years old, naive and carefree, on the cusp of something wonderful. They could have climbed out the window, down the trellis and escaped into the night. But it would be many years before Pietro learned he could carry her as he ran, and only a few short weeks before he learned that it would someday be necessary.

Curled up with Pietro in the hospital bed, Wanda listened to him as he made plans. He would go to the German nationals, the youngest contestant ever, and shock them all with his speed. Then the Olympics, fame and glory. Of course Wanda must travel the world with him. They would share the titles as they did everything else - Germany's golden children. Mutti and Vati would be so proud. Wanda held Pietro's hand under the covers until they fell asleep so that she too would be borne along as he chased after his dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

4.

 

When Doktor Ziegler opened Wanda's door the next morning, the twins – seated side by side on the bed and grinning from ear to ear – waved.

“ _Guten Morgen_ , Herr Doktor,” they chorused.

Doktor Ziegler stopped short.

“How--?” he began and stopped himself. “Ah, _Guten Morgen_.” He took a wary step forward, and his eyes darted all about the room. “How did you--?”

“Wanda's telling the truth,” Pietro said, chin jutted proudly. “And I can prove it.”

“Oh, I see.” Ziegler closed the door and gestured with mild interest. “Go ahead then.”

Pietro hopped off the bed, fists clenched in excitement. Then he paused, and looked back at Wanda with a question in his eyes. Wanda gave him an encouraging smile and nodded.

Pietro looked Doktor Ziegler up and down.

“What's that in your pocket?” he said, and blurred. He reappeared in the same spot, grinning, the Doktor's glasses dangling between his fingers.

Ziegler's knees buckled. He landed in the room's only chair, which a beat earlier had stood in the corner. Pietro, now beside him, gave the Doktor's arm a soothing pat.

“Lots to take in, I know.” He took a step. Doktor's Ziegler's glasses vanished from the windowsill and reappeared on Ziegler's nose. “Maybe these will help.”

“Pietro!” Wanda said, half-laughing, as the Doktor fumbled to adjust the frames. “Let him catch his breath!”

Pietro obediently darted to her side. Wanda took his hand to ensure he stayed, but she couldn't stop his runaway mouth.

“You see, Doktor? Wanda doesn't _need_ tests. She wished for me to be the fastest in the world and it came true. She's not crazy and she wasn't lying.”

“I never said she was,” Doktor Ziegler replied in an absent tone. He folded his hands together and pressed his mouth against his stub of a thumb. His gaze lingered on Wanda. She saw a flicker of – was it pity? She couldn't be sure – it was gone too quick. Her smile fell.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Ziegler said, and he smiled. “Only that it takes a minute to convince the senses. But this is marvellous!” He slapped his thighs and eagerly leaned forward. “Did you run all the way from--?”

“My house? Yep!” Pietro said. “I got here last night.”

Doktor Ziegler frowned. “Do your parents know you're out?”

“No,” Pietro confessed. Then he brightened. “I'll go tell them right now.”

“Ah-ah! Wait a minute.” Ziegler held up his hands for a time-out. “Why don't we give them a call instead? After all, Wanda will need the car to get back. I'm sure they're worried about you.” He stood up. “We can go to my office downstairs.” Then he paused with his hand on the doorknob.

“Wanda,” he said. “You remember I mentioned that my colleague would come in to help with the testing? Would you mind saying hello to him anyway? He did so want to meet you, and he came rather a long way.”

“I will,” Wanda said.

“Good. Thank you. Perhaps you and he can talk while Pietro and I call your parents.” Doktor Ziegler smiled and led the way.

Wanda held Pietro's hand, churning inside with nerves and excitement. Maybe they would become famous after all. Doktor Ziegler's colleague sounded very important. Wanda had never met somebody _important_ before.

They came to a white door with a brass nameplate on it. Doktor Ziegler took hold of the knob. He knocked once and pushed the door open. Wanda and Pietro stepped forward.

“Herr Doktor,” Ziegler said, “these are the ones. For god's sake, be careful.”

The door clicked shut behind them.

In the months following, Wanda would revisit this moment over and over in an agony of impotent rage – at Doktor Ziegler, at her parents, at herself for being impossibly blind. If she had not been holding Pietro's hand... if she had stopped to wonder why Ziegler knocked on his own door...

If, if, if.

The man behind the desk stood up. He held out his hand toward Wanda as though for a handshake. Then he curled his thumb over his third and fourth fingers. His two companions raised their sidearms and fired.

Pietro, her Pietro, took both hits. He dropped, twitching, to the floor, six silver pellets embedded in his chest. Someone screamed. She would realize later that it was herself. The weapons made no sound. A sharp pinprick in her neck, like a heavy mosquito had bitten her there. The weight of it spread through her body like ice and dragged her into the merciless dark.

 

 

Wanda's skinny knees stuck out strangely above the shackles. Wanda hated them immediately. She jerked in the chair, whining between her teeth. Her jaw hurt and her tongue felt raw. She glared at her knees, twitching, terrified to look up. If she did, she would find out what was going on.

She didn't want to know.

“Wanda.”

The unfamiliar voice made Wanda freeze like a hare under the shadow of a hawk. Her teeth refused to hear the command and continued to grind aimlessly.

“Wanda. Look at me.”

Slowly, she lifted only her gaze.

He sat across from her in a plain folding chair, the man from Ziegler's office. His sleeves were buttoned over a pair of latex gloves. As soon as she looked at him he flicked a penlight into her eyes. He did not touch her as Ziegler had, only took a perfunctory glance. Wanda squinted.

“Good. Now I have your attention.”

He put the penlight away, stood up and moved the chair to one side. A large metal desk and a black leather executive chair stood opposite her in the windowless room. This man, whom Ziegler had referred to as Herr Doktor, who had ordered them shot with a gesture, sat down behind the desk.

“I don't like to be bothered with a lot of questions,” Herr Doktor said, “so I will explain things to you this once and you must do your best after that.” He folded his gloved hands on the desk and spoke very clearly into the silence.

“The life you considered yours is over; it now belongs to me. When I call for you, you will come. When I tell you to wish, you will wish exactly how I say. If you don't, your brother will suffer. Do you have any questions?”

Wanda stared at him, struck dumb with terror. He sounded so much like the headmaster at the _Gesamptschule,_ but no headmaster would ever say something so horrific to his student. He couldn't. They would arrest him and throw him in prison.

This _was_ a prison.

“Have you a pet, Wanda?” Herr Doktor asked. When she did not reply he went on regardless. “No matter, I will explain. When one brings home a new pet one must establish dominance over that pet's mind and mannerisms. Otherwise the pet may piss on the carpet, chew the upholstery and generally make a mess of one's established routines. We're on a very strict schedule here. We can't have any accidents. Pay attention now; this is how it will work.”

“Every morning, you will be fed. Once a week, you will be bathed. You will remain in your cell until I call for you. You will be tested. If you fight me, he will be punished. If he fights me, you will be--”

Wanda began to scream for help. Herr Doktor stopped speaking. He opened the desk drawer and removed a silver canister. Wanda saw him put something into it and screamed louder. Someone must hear!

Herr Doktor came around the desk and pressed the canister to her neck. The liquid fire shot straight through her vocal chords, paralyzing them. Herr Doktor bent to check her pupils again. He looked irritated.

“Do not do that again.”

Wanda fought to breathe. This wasn't not happening. This could not happen! Her throat would not loosen. Herr Doktor had locked away her voice.

Herr Doktor returned to his seat.

“As I was saying. If you are calm and cooperate, I will be fair. Do I make myself clear?”

Wanda trembled, unable to respond even if she wanted to. They were... slaves? No, lab rats. Frogs, like the ones they had dissected in biology. A sudden strong smell made her gag. Her shorts were soaked. She began to cry, silently.

“Ah yes,” Herr Doktor said. “I have not shown you this.” He pressed a button on the desk phone. “Bring in the boy.”

The door opened. Wanda struggled to see through her tears. A man entered. His legs looked like spindles compared to his beefy arms and he wore an ill-fitting security uniform. Pietro, bound hand and foot, tried to bite his captor as he was carried in. Wanda gurgled, relieved and horrified to see her brother.

“Wanda!” Pietro's struggles increased. His body blurred in the big man's arms as he wrenched to face Herr Doktor. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Herr Doktor sighed. He gestured to the guard. The man took hold of the rope which bound Pietro's feet back to his wrists, and let go with his other arm. Pietro swung like luggage in the air. His breathing became harshly audible and he began to choke. Herr Doktor waited another ten seconds. He gestured a second time. The guard swung Pietro upright again.

“Why... are you doing this?” Pietro ground out between deep gulps of air.

Herr Doktor paused to consider the question. “I suppose you deserve to have some idea, if it will ensure your cooperation.”

“You and your sister are mutants. You are a genetic aberration which, left unchecked, will spread and decimate the human race. Like a disease, if you will. We must study you to find out how to stop it.”

His words struck fresh terror into Wanda's heart. She knew what cancer was, having been acquainted with a girl at school whose aunt was taken too early. If this mutation was like that...

_She had given it to Pietro._

But Pietro shook his head, teeth clenched.

“I don't believe you,” he said. “Wanda's wishes are special. You... you're just jealous!”

Herr Doktor snorted.

“You are brash, aren't y--”

“If you wanted to get rid of the disease, you would have put us in a hospital,” Pietro countered. “Hospitals don't have guns!”

Wanda jerked her gaze to the guard's hip. Sure enough, black metal gleamed between the leathers straps of the holster. The guard's fingers twitched.

“When we get out of here--” Pietro continued, but Herr Doktor gestured. The guard clamped his big hand over Pietro's throat. Pietro shut up fast.

“This isn't a storybook, boy,” Herr Doktor said. “No-one is coming to rescue you. You are a subject, nothing more. I suggest you get used to it; it will go easier for you.”

Wanda's tongue suddenly unglued itself from the roof of her mouth.

“Mutti,” she croaked. All three of them looked at her. Pietro's eyes bulged. “Our parents...”

“Have no idea where you are.” Herr Doktor shrugged. “Adopted children run away all the time. They will look for you and find nothing. Eventually they will move on with their lives. All the better for them; we have spared them the trials of your development. Your manifestations were mild compared to some. They should consider themselves lucky.”

“We're not adopted,” Wanda said quietly.

“Aren't you?”

“No. We're not.” Her voice felt stronger now. She clenched her fists and stared him down. The longer they could hold out, the closer Mutti and Vati, and the police, might be to finding them.

“So they didn't tell you,” Herr Doktor mused. “I did wonder. No matter. We're done here.” He raised his hand.

“Wait!” Wanda cried. “We're not adopted! They'll come looking for us! If...” She bit her lip. It was worth a try. “If you let us go now, we won't say anything. I swear we won't. No trouble for you.” She looked to her brother for confirmation. Now, of all times, he _must_ not be contrary! “Right, Pietro?”

But for the first time Pietro's face showed fear. He tried to hide it too late. Herr Doktor smiled.

“So they told _one_ of you,” he said, looking pointedly at Wanda.

Wanda ignored him, willing Pietro to tell her what she needed to hear. But he did not smile like she expected; like it was all a big joke. Instead he looked away.

“I... I heard them talking,” he said. “Last night. Something about whether... whether madness ran in the family. Only they said they didn't know.”

“How could they not know?” Wanda cried. “They're our _parents!”_

Pietro bit his lip so hard it bled. His narrow chest heaved like a panicked bird's, and his gaze darted about the room before it came to rest on her. Wanda watched the hope drain from his eyes and her panic rose again. It wasn't true. It _wasn't._

Her wishes had no power here.

“Take him to his cell,” Herr Doktor said.

The guard lifted Pietro toward the door.

“We're still twins!” Wanda shrieked. Pietro's head snapped around; she caught a glimpse of his dirty face before the guard's arm blocked him from sight. “Pietro! We're twins! I'm your sister! No matter what, Pietro. _Pietro!”_

Another hiss; another shot of liquid fire. She hadn't even seen Herr Doktor move. She choked on her tongue, spasmed, foaming at the mouth. Her vision began to go dark.

“I told you not to do that again,” Herr Doktor said, very close to her ear. “Now you must learn.”


	5. Chapter 5

**5.**

Wanda missed colour.

She longed for a splash of crimson, a hint of teal. The rich glossy brown of her old cello. Anything to break the monotony of her empty grey cube. One room, seven steps by seven steps. A cot. A piss pot. One tiny window in the heavy steel door. Airless. Cold.

One day – it might have been weeks ago, or yesterday – Wanda had a thought which consumed her for a full day. That Pietro's cell might very well be the one next to hers. That Pietro might be on the other side of one of these walls even now. She was filled with hope.

Wanda called to him through the wall, saying that everything would be all right. She would find a way to break through. She tried to wish the wall away. But as she could not make cake appear at will, so did the wall utterly fail to vanish. She scratched and hammered at the wall until her fists bled. That smear of scarlet startled her out of her madness. She rubbed her forefinger through the smear. She had forgotten there was colour inside of her.

She thought no longer of rescue or hope. Mutti and Vati were distant memories, too painful to address. Words meant nothing. _Please_ and _no_ meant nothing except pain. Once and only once had she wished for death. The room had darkened, and she felt the presence of _something,_ unnamed. She reversed the wish as fast as she could. The presence faded. Then she woke up, and knew she could never leave by that route. It had been closed to her.

Wanda still dreamed in colour. And the colour was red.

A door opened down the hall. Wanda scrambled onto her cot and pulled her knees tightly to her chest. She breathed hard through her teeth. Was it a laboratory day? Or had Herr Doktor called for her? She never knew until it was happening. Impossible to prepare for either. 

Heavy footsteps stopped outside her door. The slot below the tiny square window slid open, and a black nozzle poked through. Wanda shut her eyes. The gas always made them sting. _Herr Doktor it is, then._

 

 

Wanda woke, as always, with a throbbing headache and stiffness in her neck. A rush of panic followed. She struggled to focus, to see _where_ he was before he could touch her. She rarely managed it. Waking up in Herr Doktor's office was like looking through that glass vase in the waiting room all those years ago. The drugs distorted her vision and made her twitch in her shackles.

He wasn't in the room – she noticed that right away. His presence lingered, certainly, so he _had_ been here and would return shortly. But for the moment Wanda was alone. She took two deep breaths, trying to clear the effects of the gas from her mind. Rules, rules. Do nothing. Say nothing. Give nothing away. Her head lolled back, exposing her throat and triggering a fresh wave of panic. She managed to tip her head forward again just in time. The door opened, and Herr Doktor came into the room.

“How are we feeling today, pet? Chipper, I hope.” He smiled at her, shut the door and locked it. That day he wore a three piece suit, camel-coloured, and a blue silk tie. Wanda had never seen him wear a tie before. Her neck failed her a second time, caving in on the left side. Saliva trickled from the corner of her mouth.

“I've had a very special overseas call.” Herr Doktor took his spectacles from the inside pocket of his blazer and perched them on his nose. “A man wants to tour our facility.”

Wanda forgot the rules and stared. Herr Doktor chuckled.

“Do not hope for much,” he said. “This man is American, one of their elite. It seems the mutant problem has crossed the Atlantic. He wants to know how to deal with you.” Herr Doktor leaned against his desk. His gaze pierced her from above the rim of his glasses. “You will help me give a little demonstration, won't you?”

Against her will, Wanda shuddered. Her body had not yet shaken the last of the drugs. Bad timing. Herr Doktor's brow crinkled – a dangerous sign. Then he shrugged.

“Too bad. I was going to offer you an hour in return.”

Wanda's body jerked again. An hour. A whole _hour?_ No, it couldn't be true. He only wanted her to obey him as always. She must resist, she _must._

But an _hour..._

She tried to speak. Her tongue got in the way, rolling uselessly inside her mouth. She bit down on it hard enough to hurt and nodded.

Herr Doktor's face lit up.

“Good girl. We'll make it special, just for you.” He checked his watch. “The American will arrive this afternoon. If you behave throughout, the hour is yours. Now, let's see what he's up to, hm?”

Herr Doktor produced a remote control and pressed a button. The mechanized chair rotated to face the screen. Wanda gripped its arms and fought her yearning to lean forward so she could better see. Do nothing. Say nothing. Give nothing away.

A whole _hour..._

There he was.

They had strapped him to the carrying stretcher again, pale wrists buckled down on either side. Wanda's gaze darted to the usual checkpoints – eyes, arms, legs. All visibly whole if not healthy. For years she had been terrified that they would cripple him so he could no longer run. They had broken his bones before, she knew, to see how far his healing ability went. He had told her this himself in their few snatched minutes together. A reward for good behaviour.

And now she had been offered an hour...

An impossible situation, of course. Herr Doktor had given no guidelines, laid down no rules. He never did. Wanda might perform perfectly throughout the meeting and still be denied that hour. All depended on the whim of Herr Doktor.

On the screen the men in white coats carried Pietro in for the running test. Of course they did not let him free. Instead they clamped his arms into strong shackles attached to thick elastic bands. As a further safeguard they fastened around his waist a metal hoop by which they could give him a severe electric shock if he broke the elastic. Only then did they carefully unlatch his ankles from the stretcher. The elastic wound back on pulleys, drawing Pietro to his feet. Then they shut him in the room and instructed him through the speakers. If he did not comply they would shock him anyway. Pietro often feigned boredom and insulted the scientists in as many creative ways as he could think up, but he had learned not to resist them.

That day, however, he remained indifferent as they strapped him in. He even reminded the scientist tending his collar to make sure the switch was on. The scientist looked at him strangely and left the room in a hurry. A sense of foreboding prickled the hairs at the nape of Wanda's neck. She looked over her shoulder to see if Herr Doktor had noticed, but he was in the middle of a phone call and hadn't seen. Still, she felt sure the scientist would report Pietro's odd behaviour, and she was afraid for him.

When she looked back at the screen, she found herself staring directly into Pietro's eyes.

It gave her a shock. In five years he had not looked at her like that. Of course he was not really looking at _her;_ only at the camera. But it seemed to Wanda that Pietro knew she could see him, and that his gaze was for her. She could not look away.

It lasted only a few seconds before Pietro winced and began to run. Wanda had been so afraid that they would turn Pietro against her, but it had never happened. He reserved his festering hatred and contempt solely for their captors. With the guards he jeered and hurled insults; with the scientists he bared his teeth and would bite if given the chance. But on the rare occasions Herr Doktor allowed them time together, he was as gentle as a breeze, as though he too was afraid of making her his enemy in a sea already roiling with hostility.

Halfway through the morning, when the drugs had done their work, Herr Doktor unlocked Wanda's shackles. She went with him, utterly docile, into his private bathroom. He stood in the doorway while she urinated. She had long ceased to find this humiliating. Now she only stared at him with empty eyes. He washed her hands for her using a cloth, as though she were a small child. He allowed her to stretch, and then prodded her back into the chair. He fastened the shackles once more and turned the chair so it faced the desk.

“Now I'm afraid you must be patient, my dear,” he said, as though she was waiting for Christmas. “I have some things to oversee before our guest arrives. But we'll let the Maestro keep you company.”

He took a disc from the drawer and popped it into the computer. The strains of Vivaldi's Four Seasons seeped from the speakers. Wanda maintained blank indifference even after Herr Doktor left the room, but the music surprised her. He must be in a good mood. She cleared her throat – and froze.

 _Ah._ There it was.

He had not used the paralysis drug on her. She was to remain silent of her own volition during the visit. That was her test.

But was it the _only_ test?

He had left her chair facing the desk. She could no longer see whether Pietro was still in testing. She forced her body to remain perfectly still even as the itch arose to twist enough to view the screen. She had never been able to completely conquer that itch. She must pretend the screens did not exist.

But she must _not_ wish them gone. Or broken. She had learned that lesson well.

She was thinking too much, growing restless. She brought her mind to her breaths and began to count them in time with the music. Do nothing. Say nothing. Give nothing away.

She still marvelled over each breath. She had expected to run out of them long ago.

Focus, focus.

In, out...

Footsteps. Voices. Wanda's pulse jumped. _An hour._ Do not look hopeful. _An hour._ Do not think. _An hour._

Do nothing.

Herr Doktor entered the room first. He went straight to the computer and lowered the volume but did not turn the music off. Wanda waited until his companion entered her field of vision. She allowed her gaze to focus ever so slightly, enough to make out details.

The American wore rounded glasses with black frames. He had the set jaw and collected bearing of one forced by diplomacy to wait for just the right moment to strike. Skilled as she had become in reading the minutiae of body language, Wanda saw at once that there was no salvation in him for her. Indeed, looking at his thickset figure and the weight of his hands, she felt a rush of strange gratitude that he had not captured her first.

The American did a double-take upon seeing her. He turned to Herr Doktor and said, in passable German:

“I didn't expect to see a live one in your office.”

“Don't be alarmed, Herr Stryker,” Herr Doktor said. “She'll not harm you. May I pour you a cognac?”

“Thank you, no.”

“Suit yourself.” Herr Doktor replaced the bottle in the filing cabinet. He leaned against his desk, tucked one hand in his pocket and with the other gestured at Wanda. “What do you think?”

Stryker regarded her with cool aplomb. He seemed less than impressed and made no effort to hide it. But he did adjust his spectacles and bent to peer at Wanda.

“What can this one do?” he asked.

“She hexes people. I've had her five years and I still don't know how she does it. Incredible to witness, though.”

“Hexes. Like a witch, Herr Doktor?”

“It's the truth. I've seen it. She once killed a man without touching him. Myocardial infarction. He _was_ a bit heavyset. Do you exercise much, Herr Stryker?”

Stryker's mouth curved not at all pleasantly. He stood back with unhurried care, but he did not approach Wanda again.

“Part of the job.” He gave Wanda a quizzical look. “How did you say you keep control again? Suppressants?”

“I have her brother too,” Herr Doktor said. He tipped Wanda's chin up with almost paternal care. “They are so fond of one another.”

“Psychological warfare. Hm.”

“It worked on the gays for the longest time. Reinforce the message often enough and their own minds turn against them. They are children; they do not know any better.”

Stryker folded his glasses into a black case and tucked them into his pocket.

“Children tend to rebel against their betters,” he said. “Attachment is dangerous, Herr Doktor. Be careful with it.”

Herr Doktor smiled. It made a gash in his face. He gestured toward the door.

“Come, I will show you the lab.”

They turned to leave. Wanda began to panic. The visit had lasted much less time than she thought. Had she performed correctly? Or was another test imminent?

Stryker paused with his hand on the doorknob. He opened his mouth and the door at the same time.

“Lead on, Herr Doktor.”

Then something horrible happened. 

Stryker glanced back at Wanda.

Wanda yawned _._

It happened by accident; a side effect of the drugs. But Stryker had _seen._ Wanda had lost the test. Any moment now he would turn to Herr Doktor and...

He smiled.

It was a small thing, a derisive lilt. But he did not draw attention to her slip. Herr Doktor had not noticed; he was already out the door. Stryker followed, and she heard his voice before the door swung shut:

“Tell me again about the tranquilizers you use. _How_ many cc's in those little darts...?”

Wanda didn't hear Herr Doktor's reply. She waited, breathless, until her footsteps died away.

Still she showed nothing.

Time passed, or at least she assumed it did. It was impossible to tell in this place. Five years might have been the truth or it might have been a lie meant to test her. Wanda no longer paid attention. It took too much effort to care and she needed that effort to play Herr Doktor's games.

She was so tired.

A noise in the hall. Two guards entered. One of them held up a tranquilizer gun without a word. The other waited fifteen seconds for Wanda to make a move. When she failed to react at all, he unlatched the shackles from her wrists.

They cuffed her hands in front of her, and bound them to her elbows in a thick cotton sheath. They freed her ankles and marched her between them through the corridors. Wanda winced as the circulation came back to her feet. She used all of her willpower to walk steadily, because even now they might change their minds.

The bolts slid back. They pushed her into the cell and locked the door. She stumbled in the sudden darkness – his cell was always kept in blackout during visitation – and fell into his arms. He groaned as though he had been napping when she startled him. Then his breath quickened.

“Wanda?”

“I'm here,” she whispered. “Shh.”

They waited, straining to listen. It was agony to waste precious seconds together, but they had often been torn apart before either of them could even speak. When no sound came from without, they shifted automatically to accommodate each other. Pietro, fastened at wrist and ankle to the wall by chains so short he was forced always to sit with his knees bent, made what space he could for her between them. Wanda curled up against his chest and buried her face in the warm curve of his throat.

“Your nose is cold,” he whispered in the soft tone he kept only for her.

“I'm sorry,” she said automatically. How he had managed to keep any sense of humour was beyond her. Some days she appreciated it. Today she could not muster the energy.

“He didn't take your voice this time.”

“No. I had a big test. I guess I passed.”

“What was it?” he wanted to know, with his usual instant melee of worry and rage.

Wanda didn't quite know how to tell him.

“I had a visitor,” she said at last.

Pietro started under her.

“ _What?”_

 _“_ Shh,” she said, and nuzzled him until he relaxed. His heart beat staccato against her shoulder.

“Tell me,” he said, more gently.

“An American came to see the Facility. He wanted to look at me. Herr Doktor didn't even ask me to demonstrate my power.” Wishes, too, were a thing of the past. When she reached for them now it was always through a red haze. “He was a general of some sort, I think,” she finished, honestly at a loss. He had not revealed her to Herr Doktor. She wasn't foolish enough to believe it meant anything, but it was the first time her curiosity had stirred in years.

 _“_ Was that all?” Pietro asked. “Did they talk in front of you?”

“He wanted to know about the tranquilizers. And Herr Doktor said the mutant problem had spread overseas.”

“Maybe they're rounding us up there, too,” he said.

“I don't know. I don't even know if he was a real general. Oh, what does it matter?” Wanda snuggled in and closed her eyes. Nothing had changed. She didn't want to think on it anymore; only to be with him.

Pietro stayed very quiet for a minute or two, but Wanda could feel that his interest had been piqued in the way he held himself. He laid his cheek against her matted hair and whispered:

“I have something to tell you too.”

“Tell me.”

“About three weeks ago, one of my guards came with the morning slop. It was the one with the lazy eye. He taunted me the whole time I ate. He called me a pig, said I would get fat with how much I eat. He told me I was a freak and that my power is nothing more than an anomaly.

He has done this before. Normally I would have thrown the slop at his head. But that day I didn't. I ate every bit of it and I listened to him talk. I looked at him the whole time and said nothing. It seemed to me that he spoke very slowly, as though I were hearing him through water. I could only make out his tone and not the words. When I finished the last bite I looked at him and said, quite calmly, “When I get out of here, I'm going to kill you.”

“What did he do?” Wanda asked.

“He left. He couldn't get out fast enough. Forgot the bucket and all. He was _afraid_ of me, Wanda. They all are.” In the very dim light which shone through the cracks of the door she saw his eyes. They shone, not with hope, but with the ferocity of new knowledge. “If the Americans are asking Herr Doktor for help, maybe they've already lost control. Maybe, over there, mutants are stronger. Maybe over there they are free.”

Just then they heard the distant creak of a door and footsteps on the concrete floor. Pietro stiffened. Wanda moaned and buried her face against his throat.

“Look at me-- _look at me,_ Wanda,” he said, so sharply she jumped to obey. “Don't give in. Watch them. Use their fear against them. Be cunning and wait. I'll get us out of here. Promise me you'll be patient. Promise me you won't give up.”

“I promise,” she whispered.

His eyes burned fierce and proud. Then he crushed his mouth to hers.

It hurt. His teeth caught her cracked lip and drew blood. For a moment she was shocked and could not respond. Then, as the cell door opened and the guards began to shout, she surged against him and felt him grin.

Rough hands tore her away. She fought viciously to get back to him. Pietro shouted something that she didn't quite catch. One of the guards backhanded him across the face so hard his head cracked against the stone wall. Wanda shrieked his name over and over as they dragged her down the hall.

They threw her into her cell and slammed the door. Unable to catch herself, she struck her head hard on the floor and screamed again. She lay there, roiling against the pain, and her screams turned to wild laughter. Pietro's mouth had seared hers; she could feel it still. They were going to escape. They were going to escape. They were going to be free.

By the time Herr Doktor arrived Wanda had sat herself up on the cot with her back to the wall. She stared straight ahead and neither moved nor blinked as he ordered the door open. They regarded each other with mutual loathing; she saw that the guards had told him that she had been caught kissing Pietro. She jutted her chin. She no longer felt afraid.

“Tomorrow,” Herr Doktor said, struggling to maintain calm, “he will be castrated. We cannot have you breeding little monsters, can we?”

“If you touch him,” Wanda said, “I will wish you dead on the spot. How is the old heart doing, hm?”

She mimicked his tone and cadence exactly, her head tilted a little to the left. He was very good at hiding his true mind. But she saw his hands shake.

“My men have orders to shoot him if anything happens to me.”

“If they shoot him, I will wish myself dead and be rid of this place – and you – either way.”

His Adam's apple bobbed. She had him, for now. He clenched his fists, then forced a smile.

“I did hope you might come to enjoy our little talks, Wanda,” he said. “Perhaps a few days without food will remind you how much I do for you both.” Then he ordered the door locked and went away without removing the sheath.

Wanda exhaled and tipped her head back against the wall. Anything could happen now. Herr Doktor might still carry out his threat. But so could she. She had bought them a little time. She had the oddest feeling, suddenly, that he had gone to call for instructions in her handling. For the first time she wondered which government had funded this horror and she shuddered.

Then it came to her, what Pietro had shouted before they struck him. He had always kept better track of the time than she, now that he measured it to the fraction of a second. She bared her teeth, laughing aloud, and whispered her answer back.

“Happy birthday, Pietro.”

 

 

Wanda slept. She didn't know how long. A strange noise woke her. It sounded just like the rush of wind after the train from Berlin had passed by. How many times had she and Pietro gone to the edge of their property, where the tracks were, to wave at the conductors as they passed?

Wanda lifted her head and looked toward the door. The lights were still on. She thought she had been dreaming until a thump echoed down the hall. The rushing sound came again. Wanda bit her tongue to stifle a cry.

Pietro's face had appeared in the little window.

She only saw him for a blink before he vanished. The locks clicked. That sound rushed in, along with a gust of wind which materialized into her brother.

“How...?” she gasped as he loosened her shackles and pulled off the sheath. He answered so quickly her mind didn't process it until a beat after he finished speaking.

“Broke the chains. Killed the guards. No time to waste. Come on.”

He took her hand. Together they stepped into the hall. It was very quiet. Wanda did her best to ignore the bodies on the floor, their necks twisted at unnatural angles. She wondered where Pietro had learned to do that. Then she thought about what she would do the next time she saw Herr Doktor and she knew exactly.

He led her at a normal pace down the long corridor to the left. He seemed to know where they were going. At one junction they heard running feet and shouts. Before her eyes Pietro blurred, or was that the building? When it stopped she found herself tucked into a side corridor that held no more than a closet, pressed between his body and the wall. Wanda gripped his arm to keep him with her while the guards ran past. A deep fear struck her. If he should do something rash, be shot or captured now when they were so close to freedom.... She must not let this happen. But Pietro stayed quiet until the last of the guards had gone. Then they went on.

Another two turns they came to a set of double doors Wanda recognized. Pietro looked at her, a silent question. Wanda nodded and braced herself.

They burst through the doors like warriors, teeth bared. The room beyond held only furniture; a huge steel desk, an executive chair, a bank of surveillance screens on the near wall. Wanda's gaze fell on the metal chair bolted to the floor in front of the screens, where for so many hours Herr Doktor had indoctrinated her with his voice. Months of her life spent shackled to that chair, watching Pietro suffer.

Wanda's hands shook. Never again.

Pietro rifled the desk like a whirlwind, then checked the bathroom. He came to a stop beside her and scanned the screens. He cursed sharply.

“He's not here. He's run for it.” Pietro blurred again. The desk chair careened into a wall. Wanda searched the screens, but Pietro was right – there was no sign of Herr Doktor.

“Pietro, look.” She pointed at one image. It showed a loading bay with outside access. Two armoured trucks sat in the quad. They were guarded, yes, but most of the guards – were there only fifteen of them? - seemed to be clustered in groups of three. They were running a systematic search of the halls. Pietro did not quite smile, but vindictive pleasure lay in the set of his jaw. He pointed at the loading bay.

“We'll go there. Search the desk, the keys might be here.”

Wanda hurried to comply, expecting Pietro to join her. A rushing noise made her look up sharply. Pietro had just opened the door.

“Where are you going?” she cried in a strangled whisper.

“I have one more promise to keep,” he said. “Find the keys, I'll be right back.”

“Pietro--” The protest died on her lips when he looked at her. His expression was terrible. On the leftmost screen the guard with the lazy eye struggled to load his weapon. Wanda straightened.

“Don't forget me.”

Pietro's fingers tightened on the door handle.

“I'm not going anywhere without you,” he said. Then he vanished.

Alone, Wanda took a steadying breath and continued her search. The desk drawers yielded nothing and the file cabinet was locked. Desperate, she looked at the sparse desktop. A phone, a forgotten pen and a space for a laptop. A red light blinked on the phone. On an impulse Wanda pressed the button beside it.

_Beep._

_You have one new message._

_“Herr Drescher. Einslow. I have found another. I think it will make a perfect addition to the collection. I am shipping it from Munich. If you care to view the goods before delivery meet us at the Beringstrausse at eight a.m this coming Tuesday.”_

_End of unheard messages._

She stood still while it played, her fists clenched at her sides. Her breath came fast and hard, and she screamed victory through her teeth. All those long years he had only ever been called 'Herr Doktor'.

Now she had his name.

A movement on the left screen caught her eye. The search forgotten, Wanda stepped around the desk for a better look. In what must have been the kitchen, the guard with the lazy eye jerked his gun up. It flashed many times, silent in black and white. Pietro came into view, sidestepping bullets until the clip emptied. Then he lunged. The guard's body flew across the room and slammed into the wall. Pietro kicked the gun aside as he advanced. The guard began to scream. He was still screaming when Pietro picked up the slop bucket and caved in the man's skull.

The screen flickered with static. The room began to shake. Red sparks danced in Wanda's vision. She shut her eyes tight. When Herr Doktor first began their sessions Wanda had struggled to hold back the tide of her power with both hands. He had unlocked her with sweet words followed by pain, always pain, tender inflictions scored on her mind. If she had been stronger she might have wished him dead. But all she had been was a terrified little girl. What could she have done? Could she do anything now?

She hated her power most of all. Without it they would have gone on being Wanda and Pietro. Cookie dough ice cream whenever they could pinch it. Summers spent languid by the pool or buried hip deep in literature (for Pietro) and poetry (for Wanda). Both the twins had loved to read, curled up together in Vati's den, a plate of fruit between them in summer and hot chocolate by the fire in winter. Now Wanda barely remembered what a book smelled like. She couldn't recall the feel of the breeze, or a shirt's cotton caress on her skin. Only those few brief visits with Pietro had kept her anchored to herself. When she lost all hope and sought death in her soul, she could remember the brush of his hand in her hair and keep going, just for another minute, another hour, another day. Nothing else mattered anymore.

All at once she grasped the metal chair in both hands. Its bolts snapped and she wrenched it free. She threw it into the bank of screens. More sparks flew, white and blue this time. She ducked a shower of glass and ran for the door. Herr Doktor would see the damage and know she was coming for him. He had unleashed this in her. If it took the rest of her life, she would make him feel it before the end.

In the hallway she collided with Pietro. He caught her by the shoulders. Blood spattered his arms. He shook her roughly and brought her back to herself.

“Did you find the keys?”

“No.”

He cursed again and looked toward the exit. Then he shrugged. “It doesn't matter. Come on.”

They met two pods of searchers on their way to the loading dock. Each time Pietro dispatched them with cold mechanical accuracy. Together they ran down the last corridor and finally, finally slipped free.

The outside air was cool and fresh, a spring breeze. Wanda trembled to feel it. She wanted to throw her arms wide and let it lull her to sleep. But there was no time and it was a ridiculous notion anyway. Bent double, they crept along the perimeter walkway to a small set of stairs. Only the positions of the trucks themselves shielded their progress. Three guards with automatic rifles now stood between the twins and freedom. Crouched behind the cab of the nearest vehicle, Pietro put a finger to his lips, then jabbed it sharply at the ground. _Stay put._ On bare and silent feet he edged toward the rear of the truck. Wanda held her breath.

He went for the furthest guard first. The man crumpled, knocked out with the butt of his own rifle. The other two guards whirled to shoot – aiming away from Wanda's hiding place – but Pietro was already gone. The second man dropped much like the first. The third guard reached for his radio, but Pietro was faster. He wrapped the radio cord around the man's neck, dragged him off balance and slammed his head into the side of the truck. Wanda felt the vibration and crouched to peek under the truck. The guard's blank eyes stared back at her.

In the silence Pietro's feet made a whirring sound on the concrete. Wanda heard the jingle of keys, and then he hauled her to her feet. She stumbled and flinched under his rough grip. He unlocked the driver's side door and they scrambled inside. Wanda scooted to the passenger side as Pietro shut the door.

“If there's anyone left, they'll have heard the shots,” Pietro said. He jammed the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine rumbled, far too loud.

“You don't know how to drive,” Wanda said.

Pietro nodded grimly. “I'm about to learn. Wait a minute.” His eyes flicked over the dashboard, too fast to follow. Wanda clutched the seat, feeling about five years old. Why did she point that out? Why did she always have to start an argument at a critical time? Out of nowhere she laughed. The sound frightened her. They were seconds from freedom and here she was being a... a _sister._

Pietro's gaze snapped up. Just as quickly he turned back to his task, but the corner of his mouth twitched. His hands shook as he pulled the clutch and reached for the brake release.

The passenger window shattered. Wanda screamed and threw herself down in the seat. Pietro's hand flew to the back of her neck to keep her there as bullets ricocheted off the armoured truck. He shoved both feet onto the pedal. The truck lurched forward, picking up speed.

There was a gate. Or at least Wanda thought it was a gate – she only saw part of it as it hit the windshield and bounced off, leaving a huge crack in the glass. She sat up cautiously and saw nothing but trees and the road ahead of them. Pietro gripped the wheel with both hands. The cords stood out on his arms, determination in every line of his body. Wanda stared at him, at his white knuckles on the steering wheel. _Mein Gott, we've done it._ She twisted in her seat and peeked out the passenger window. Her hair whipped into her face. She tugged it back and stared as the gate, the guards and the grey walls of the Facility retreated out of sight.

Even when the second truck turned onto the road after them, Wanda felt no fear. Only the blank shock of looking at the Facility from the outside for the first time.

“Pietro. They're coming.”

Pietro swore violently. _Mutti would tell him off for that,_ Wanda thought from far away.

“Can't this thing go any faster!?”

Wanda turned to see if she could help. At the same time they rounded a bend in the road. A movement caught her eye. All at once her terror kicked back into overdrive.

“Pietro, _look out!_ ”

They had drifted too far into the left lane on the turn. Pietro wrenched the wheel over just in time to avoid the oncoming truck, identical to their own. Both vehicles spun on the wider section of road, grey behemoths in a lethal dance. Pietro's truck skidded sideways off the road and tipped at a crazy angle into the forest. Wanda grasped for Pietro's hand, knocked breathless by the jarring stop. His fingers found hers and tightened. He was all right.

A tremendous crash made them both duck. When the noise subsided they peeked together out of the driver's side window. The oncoming truck had collided head-first with their pursuers. Both cabs were wrecked, but they could hear someone shouting as they pounded on the rear doors of the arriving truck. Beyond the curve they could see men with guns running toward the wreck.

Pietro and Wanda looked at each other. As one they surged toward the passenger side door.

“Go. Keep going!” Pietro hissed.

Wanda hit the ground running. The shouts behind her got louder. She didn't dare look back. The forest floor scratched her bare feet. She stepped on something sharp – a pine cone, perhaps – and stumbled. A chunk of the nearest tree blew outward over her head. They were shooting again. She reached for Pietro's hand and found nothing but air.

He was not with her.

She turned to look for him and tripped. The sky bucked above her and she braced herself for impact. In that instant, something hit her sidelong – something too warm and soft to be the ground. The canopy above her blurred and her breath stole from her lungs.

“Holdon,” Pietro said.

Wanda clutched his shirt and shut her eyes as the world flew away under his feet.


	6. Chapter 6

**6.**

 

They stopped at the first... no, the third town they came to. The other two were nothing but a blur to Wanda. When Pietro finally put her down she immediately collapsed, lightheaded with vertigo. The alleyway spun above her; she felt weightless even though gravel dug into her arms and a puddle soaked her gray shorts. She heard a retching noise and turned to look. Pietro shook violently as he emptied the meagre contents of his stomach onto the ground. He wiped his mouth on a corner of his ragged shirt. Then he staggered to his knees beside her, his face stricken and _old._

“Wanda? Say something. Did I hurt you?”

Wanda managed a tiny shake of her head. She reached for words to reassure him and found only blankness. They were free. They had escaped.

Now what?

“Now what?” she croaked, clutching at the words, the two most important words she had right now.

Pietro's throat bobbed. He plopped down next to her and covered her hand with his. He laid his forehead against one bent knee and made himself breathe.

“I don't know. _Gott,_ I don't know.”

After a minute or two Wanda dragged herself up beside him. Pietro set his back against the stonework and made room for Wanda to crawl into his lap. For the first time in five years he wrapped his arms around her and held her so tight she could barely breathe. He was still shaking. It took her a full five minutes to realize she was shaking too.

Slowly the sounds of the town around them penetrated the fuzzy static in Wanda's mind. It struck her that all around them people were going about their lives. Someone could come upon them at any moment. She sucked in a breath and curled her fingers into Pietro's shirt. That small gesture exhausted her. Another five minutes passed before she could dredge up the energy for more.

“We can't stay here,” she whispered.

“I know,” Pietro said. “I'm thinking.” He sounded as wrecked as she. There was still blood on his arms. Someone would see it and call the police. Wanda absently rubbed at the nearest splotch. It had dried and flaked off under her thumb.

Pietro winced and moved his arm out of her sight. He tipped his head back against the wall and stared up at the column of windows opposite. An apartment building, six stories. Pietro's brow creased. Wanda watched his tongue dart out to wet his lips. Then he nudged her and they got to their feet.

“Come on. Be ready to run.”

He led her to the back of the building. The alley was empty. Pietro looked carefully at all the windows, most of which were closed. Midday in the middle of the week – everyone would be at work. _At work._ What a foreign concept. Wanda tore herself from her reverie when Pietro blurred and jumped for the bottom rung of the fire escape. It slid down with a terrific noise which made them both shy like skittish colts. Pietro clutched the ladder and looked again at all the windows. Then he motioned Wanda over and boosted her up.

It took them only three floors to find an apartment. The lock gave under a red spark and Pietro eased open the sash. They climbed into the bathroom one by one. Pietro left Wanda crouched by the tub and darted through each room. He drew the blinds, then came back to her.

“It's empty.”

As one they rushed to the kitchen. Pietro scrabbled through the cupboards while Wanda raided the fridge. They didn't stop to cook – neither of them knew how. They ate their way through anything they could find to sate the ravenous gnaw in their bellies. Pietro was still eating when Wanda ran back to the bathroom and emptied it all into the toilet. It burned just as much coming up as it had going down. Her jaw, her throat, her stomach, they did not remember what it was like to eat normally, to not be forced to hurry lest the food be taken away. She brought up nearly half a bun, choked on it, struggled with it until it fell – _plop –_ into the bowl. When she had finished she collapsed on her side, panting, feeling emptier than before. Had Herr Doktor ruined even her ability to eat?

The thought slipped away as quickly as it came. She had trouble holding onto them now; they slid away on contact, filmy like a picture taken just as the camera had been bumped. Wanda dragged herself up on shaky legs. Something moved to her left, sending a shot of adrenaline through her ravaged body. She spun toward it and froze.

The girl in the mirror stared back so fearfully Wanda could see the whites of her eyes. They were bloodshot, rimmed in dark purple veins that puffed above her sallow cheeks. She took a step forward, entranced. The stringy curtain of her hair draped her gaunt body like an ill-fitting cloak. She had forgotten the colour of her eyes, the sheen of her own skin. She looked at her hands, at the track marks in her arms, and saw only the signs Herr Doktor would use to find her.

 _Look for my signature on her skin,_ he would tell his guards. They would know her instantly.

Panic closed its fist around her heart. Wanda scrambled through the drawers under the counter, then in the cupboard on the wall. She found a pair of scissors on the second shelf and snatched them up. Without hesitation she took the biggest hank of hair she could grab and cut it off, snipping away with the tiny blades. As the hair fell away it revealed more of his signature, writ over her body like a gruesome work of art. The bruises at her collarbone, the jut of her elbows, each and every protruding rib, as though he had crafted her from too small a supply of putty. Wanda cut and snipped and sobbed until, quite unexpectedly, she found her ears. They were small, delicate, and the left lobe bled where she had snicked it. Another mark to add to the collection.

The sink and floor were covered in hair. Wanda stumbled back against the wall. Through a blind of tears she fumbled for the shower, turned the water on hot and climbed in. She didn't have the strength to undress, only to curl up under the stream while five years of her life slid down the drain.

She didn't realize she was thumping her head against the tub until Pietro's hand slid between. She hadn't heard him come in, and she nearly gutted him with her elbow out of instinct. But he was ever the faster and blocked it.

“Shh,” he said. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

He eased himself down behind her, ran his fingers into her hair and lolled her head back against his shoulder. Her vision filmed over again, but this time the picture had blackened edges as though it had been burned.

“Pietro,” she whispered. “I can't see.”

His breath caught, and his body trembled under hers.

“I think you're sick,” he said. “You can't keep anything down.”

“How are you so much stronger than me?” All of a sudden she had to know this. She struggled to push the black edges away so she could see his face when he answered.

“It's the food. _Not_ eating makes me sick. But it's the other way round for you.”

“Am I going to die?” That might be nice. She had heard it was like going into a light. Anything would be better than silence and darkness.

“ _No_.” Pietro's voice broke. “No. I won't let that happen. Wanda, you have to _stay here._ Understand me? I'll figure this out, I promise. ...Wanda? _Wanda_?”

She was so tired.

 

 

Wanda woke, as always, with a little jolt. Her cell had changed. Friendly carmine curtains kept the darkness at bay. A quilt held her in its gentle embrace. She felt for sure she must be dreaming. She turned her head and found Pietro sleeping beside her. His arm contributed to the weight of the quilt and his breathing was slow and even. But when she tried to wiggle an arm free, to touch him and reassure herself that he was real, he jolted the same way she had and opened his eyes.

“Wanda.” That was all, just her name, whispered in her ear as he gathered her into his arms. She closed her eyes again, sank into his warmth like a bath. The bath... water... oh yes. She remembered now. Something important had happened. Pietro shook against her, and she thought it must not have been a good something.

“Pietro?”

“I thought you were going to die,” he said, muffled against her neck, and Wanda abruptly felt cold. “I called the doctor to see what I could do. I told them you were hungry, really hungry, and you couldn't keep anything down. They said to take you to emergency. I almost did it. But I knew we'd be caught. So I made them tell me what else. They said to feed you plain broth and make you drink lots of water. You're dehydrated, undernourished. So I did that. I'm so glad it worked.”

He stumbled over his words, his voice too wrecked to go fast. Wanda closed her eyes and took a mental tally. She felt weak, yes, and tired, but her belly was warm and her mind clear. She twisted under the blanket and pressed her lips to his ear.

“I feel much better, Pietro. Thank you.”

The relief on his face broke her heart. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he held up a finger.

“There's soup. Wait here.”

He vanished like the breeze. Wanda sighed and pushed the covers down a little. Then she pulled them back up. Where had her clothes gone? Oh yes – they had gotten wet. Oh well, they revolted her anyway. Wanda sat up against the headboard and rearranged the blankets, pleased that her head gave her no pangs though her body ached something fierce. She tipped her head back and had nearly fallen asleep again when Pietro came back with the soup.

“I think they're gone,” Pietro explained while she ate. Wanda frowned. “Their message machine is full." Oh - he meant the apartment's tenants. "They're on vacation or something, so we can stay a little while. Until you're better.” He watched her eat, which put her off a little, but she knew he was only worried. “How is it?”

Wanda swallowed the last drop.

“Very good. Thank you.”

“You don't feel sick at all?”

“No.”

“Good.” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly averting his gaze. “You can shower first if you want. There are clothes in there.” He pointed at the armoire against the wall. “I'll make more soup.” He took her bowl and left the room.

Wanda waited until she heard him clanking around in the kitchen. She slipped from the bed and crept down the tiny hallway to the bathroom. Her hair floated in puddles of water on the tile floor. Wanda grabbed a towel and mopped up as best she could. She rinsed the whole mess of it down the tub drain. Then she climbed in.

Ah, the luxury of hot water, the bliss of soap! For half an hour Wanda scrubbed at her body until her scars stood out white on her skin. She towelled her hair before the mirror, took up the scissors again and did her best to smooth out the hack job. The result dried fluffy and soft around her ears. She tried a little smile and found a sudden comfort in her reflection. The girl in the mirror was alive and therefore had power.

Wanda rinsed the sink once more, tore open a new toothbrush and brushed her teeth. Two of them hurt her, but she felt much better afterward. She left the light on for Pietro and went back to the bedroom.

The armoire housed mostly skirts and suit pants; nothing good for running in. In the drawer below, however, she found a slim pair of denim trousers and a thick sweater. She pulled these on. The jeans were a woman's and fit her rather well at the hips. She sat down to roll the cuffs. The sweater sagged a little in front, but not as much as she expected. In the bottom drawer she found a compartment full of small, round black bundles. She tipped her head to one side and looked at them for a long time, unable to think what they were for. Finally she picked one up and pulled it apart. All at once the word came back to her.

She had utterly forgotten about socks.

Tears sprang to Wanda's eyes. She pulled on each sock with loving care, stroked her feet and wiggled her toes. They felt fantastic. She tried not to smile too hard – it hurt her cracked lips – but she couldn't help herself. She took a second pair and shoved it into the pocket of the sweater. Then she pushed the drawer shut and walked to the kitchen, savouring every step.

Pietro stood at the stove, barefoot, pushing a wooden spoon round and round. Wanda peeked at him around the fridge. He stared into the soup pot with vacant eyes, exhaustion in every line of his body. Abruptly Wanda felt guilty about the socks. She went over to him and eased the spoon out of his hands. She pulled a kitchen chair out and pushed him into it. He sat without protest while she resumed stirring. The clock on the wall ticked off the seconds, the only sound in the room.

“I like your hair,” Pietro said at last. Even his voice sounded slow.

Wanda smiled at him over her shoulder. She turned off the oven, found a bowl and poured him soup. She brought it to him with a spoon and sat facing him at the corner of the table. Pietro just looked at the bowl and sighed. Wanda nudged the handle of the spoon toward him.

“Eat,” she said.

Now it was her turn to watch, to make sure he got better. She had left him, panicked and alone, for... hours, maybe. She must make up for this. Wanda said nothing while he ate. When he had finished she took his hand, led him into the bathroom and sat him upon the edge of the tub. She made him lean back, took the scissors and cut his hair for him. She left a bit of length in front, because she liked to watch him push it back off his brow. The rest she snipped close to his neck, soft like an angel's down. By the time she finished his eyelids had begun to droop. Wanda turned on the shower and left him to bathe.

What next? She stood in the hallway a moment and thought. Then she went to rummage the armoire some more. She found a pair of drawstring pants she thought might fit Pietro, and a t-shirt. She folded them, placed a pair of socks like a cherry on top and laid them on the bathroom counter.

Wanda went to the kitchen and cleaned up the soup. Her fingers felt clumsy, unused to such domestic work, but it felt wrong to leave it all a mess. The owners would call the police, of course, if they came home to find themselves robbed. They must not leave a trail. She put everything back as best she could remember, closed all the cupboards and tucked in the chairs. Then she opened the pantry cupboard again and took down all the soup cans that were left. There weren't many. She ransacked the hall closet and found a sturdy knapsack. Pietro had pushed the coffee table against the front door. If someone came, they would have a few seconds to reach the fire escape.

How clever, Wanda thought as she loaded the knapsack.

The water turned off as Wanda stepped back into the bedroom. She put the knapsack on the bed and turned a slow circle. This was wrong too. Robbers would not steal only soup cans. Herr Doktor would recognize two hungry young fools. Making as little noise as possible, Wanda upturned the room. She emptied the jewellery box and tipped it on its side. She shoved the jewellery into the pillowcase and turned it over so the lumps didn't show. She pulled everything out of the armoire and scattered it about like confetti at a wedding.

When she was done she dusted her hands and found Pietro staring at her from the doorway. The pants stopped above his ankles – he had gotten so tall – and his hair was still damp. His expression made her burst out laughing. At once they both moved to cover her mouth. Wanda tried to stifle them, but more giggles slipped between their tangled fingers.

“Are you completely mad?” Pietro whispered. He was smiling.

“I think maybe I am,” Wanda said, breathless, and kissed him.

For a moment Pietro did not respond. Then his arms came around her and crushed her to his chest. Of all the bruises Wanda had sustained, none compared to the one his mouth left on hers. She welcomed it eagerly, and when he tore himself away – too soon, too soon – she pushed forward, seeking more. But Pietro turned his face away.

“Don't.”

“Why not?” She took her hands back, feeling like he had slapped her. “Who is to stop us now?”

“It's not that.” He fidgeted, like he didn't quite believe his own argument. “We're not safe yet. They'll come after us. We need to get away from here, as far away as we can. Wanda, please.” His voice broke. Wanda looked into his eyes and saw an edge of madness there. She saw that it hurt him to say this to her, but it was hurting him more to stand still when his instincts still screamed _run, run, escape, flee._ He was right. Of course he was right. When they were safe, then they could talk about this. They needed to be of one mind right now. She curled her fingers into a fist and lowered her hand to her side.

“Where should we go?” she asked. Then she paused and squinted at the drawn blinds. “Where are we to start with?”

Pietro took a deep breath of relief. His answer came in a steady voice. “We crossed the border into France yesterday.”

“Then...” Wanda struggled to think, to _remember_ what the world was like. “Then we are illegal. They will look for us at border crossings and along the roads. We should go across the country on foot.”

As soon as she said it, she realized why he still looked so pained. For him it would be a matter of hours to reach the coast. For her, on the other hand...

“You cannot carry me that whole way.”

“I can try.”

“No. I won't do that to you. You should go ahead and find a safe place. I will follow as best I can.”

“I'm not leaving you behind.”

“I won't be the one to slow you down again!” She meant to scream. It came out a hoarse whisper. “I won't be yet another shackle, Pietro! _Verdammt!”_ She stomped her foot on the floor and ran both hands into the mess of her hair. Loose strands floated down around her. She shouldn't have cut it. That was dangerous, that was foolish, they would search everywhere, they could track them by their blood, their skin, their _genetic strands._ There was nowhere she and Pietro could hide. They could change their names, dye their hair and still they would be dragged back, kicking and screaming, into Hell.

Her vision turned red. No, no! They would see it! They would come! Her knees buckled but did not strike the floor. Pietro had caught her, dropped with her into a kneeling slump. He cupped her face in his hands and forced her chin up, pleading in a voice as terrified as she felt.

“ _No,_ Wanda. Not here. Look at me. Focus on me. They're not going to catch us. I won't let them. I won't _let_ them, Wanda, but you have to keep it under control. Just for now, please. Trust me.”

She clutched his wrists so hard she felt the skin break, but as he babbled nonsense into her ear she felt the tremors fade. He whispered that he loved her, that he would never leave her, that so long as she could wish and he could run, nothing could touch them. She wasn't naive enough to believe that, but she clung to it – to him - nevertheless, because he was all she had.

 

 

After three days Wanda became used to travelling with Pietro.

Everything was dictated by his speed. The first time he pushed himself beyond his limit, they had just left Toul. He carried her, as always. They had barely set out – or so it seemed to Wanda – when Pietro began to slow again. Wheezing, he set her down, took two steps and collapsed on his face. Wanda turned him over, frantic, calling his name. She thought he had burst his heart.

Then he let out a resounding snore.

After she had calmed from the point between hysterical laughter and wanting to hit him, Wanda propped him up against a tree and settled down to guard duty. He woke six hours later, ravenous and completely unaware of what had happened. They had a shouting match which caused the birds to fly up from the trees. That night, in the next town, Pietro stole a jar of pickled onions, Wanda's favourite, along with their evening meal. He ate not a single one, even after she offered one to him.

After that Wanda began to count, starting just after the breathless rush of his first step had faded. When she reached one hundred she would pinch him so he knew to stop, and they would walk normally. This made Pietro impatient to no end, but Wanda reasoned that _her_ legs would tire if she didn't get some exercise. Pietro looked at her legs, cleared his throat and didn't argue anymore. 

The other thing was food. Pietro needed to eat, if not more substantially, then at least more frequently than she did. He was forever craving sandwiches and protein, which became something of a problem as they wanted to keep away from the towns. Wanda imagined Herr Doktor hearing about a rash of roast beef sandwich thefts and broke into a cold sweat. So they varied their spoils and travelled, not in a straight line, but a sort of zigzag pattern to throw Herr Doktor off the scent.

In this way they came to La Rochelle.


	7. Chapter 7

**7.**

 

Wanda expected to feel cold.

But in the middle of the ocean, miles from land, supported only by her brother's slender strength, she felt nothing but numb. All around her the sea and sky were one big blur, like they lived inside a bubble. In a way she supposed they did.

They could not talk much. Pietro had to save his breath. And anything Wanda said was lost in the roar of the constant wind. By turns Wanda's ears adjusted to that roar so that it became in itself a sort of silence. Her sense of time began to slide away. She felt they might always be running, always in the centre of this odd blue storm, never breaking free into the world of light and noise again. She fought the urge to struggle, the itch of boredom which urged her to move, like when your leg falls asleep. She would be calm, she _must_ be calm.

If only she could open her eyes. But Pietro insisted she keep them closed or the wind and water would scour them clean away. Trapped in this bubble of never-ending sound, Wanda could only wait.

She had just begun to feel that she had gone mad, that she was back at the Facility and had dreamed their escape after all, when a new sound reached her ears. She strained after it, but the wind snatched it away. Then it came again, short and harsh. Wanda didn't dare open her eyes.

“Land!” Pietro shouted. “Wanda! I see land!”

All at once Wanda realized two things. The first, that the odd harsh sound had been Pietro's laughter, half-crazed and wheezing with strain. The second, that she could hear the cry of a gull. She pried her eyes open, caught a flash of orange as they passed the outer buoys. They were a mile from shore and slowing. She peeked up at Pietro's face. His eyes - bloodshot, apologetic - met hers.

Then they rolled up and closed.

They hit the water with such force it stunned Wanda half-senseless. She felt her body hit, arc and hit again, a skipping stone of numb limbs and pain. On second impact she swallowed water and sank. She tried to kick but her legs tingled so badly she could not be sure they were moving like she wanted them to. Silence took hold of her, pulled her further away from the surface. Had they had come all this way only to die?

_No!_

Red filled her vision, and in its flash she saw Pietro. He floated close by, his eyes closed, sinking slowly away from her. She grabbed his trailing hand and held it tight as she kicked and strained toward the surface. She fought the water as she had wanted to fight the men in white, all those years, and had never found the courage. Pietro had wrested her freedom from them and given it back to her. For Pietro she would fight.

They broke the surface. Wanda sucked in air and turned Pietro onto his back. Retching and crying, she swam toward the mass of land, pulling him along like a soggy, bedraggled tugboat. It seemed the shore would never come. Then suddenly it was there, cold and solid underfoot. She dragged his body up the beach until the waves were no more threat than a kitten's tongue, lapping gently at their feet. They had done it. This was America, and she was alone.

Pietro lay very still, sand bunched around his shoulders. He did not breathe. Frantically Wanda touched his face, brushed his hair back, put her ear to his chest. Dimly she heard herself sobbing, but the sound did nothing to rouse him as it usually would. He was always so gentle with her when she was upset. Now he did nothing but lie there, looking very dead. That could not be, she would not let it be. She pressed her hand over his heart and wished, wished, wished for him to live. She could not go on without him.

He did not stir. Wanda began to shake. He was leaving her, she could feel it. She had taken too much from him and given nothing back. She had nothing to give.

So she bent and gave him her breath.

A red spark leapt from her fingers to his chest. He began to cough, his body wracked with spasms. Wanda screamed victory and cradled him while he shook. He panted and whispered her name, too weak even to lift his arms. The sound of his voice made her weep all over again. She stroked his hair and told him everything would be all right. This time she would take care of him.

She raised her head and looked about. The beach sloped up to a long fence that was in some places wooden and others metal. No-one was about, but from further down the row of houses she heard a child's shriek of laughter. A delicious smell mingled with the sea breeze. The sun glinted off the rooftops, off the bright yellow sign nailed to a wooden post near the pathway entrance. Wanda squinted at the sign, forcing her mind back to second year English when they had learned the alphabet. She mouthed the letters to herself:

_Winthrop Beach._

“We have to move,” Pietro croaked. “Too open.”

“There's a path,” Wanda said. “I can see trees. We can hide there.”

Somehow she got him upright, though her limbs were as shaky as his. They leaned on each other and staggered up the path onto the street. A man came out of his house as they passed. He sat down on his front step, lit a cigarette and then noticed them. He frowned. Wanda offered a weak smile and hurried Pietro along.

They crossed a thoroughfare and slipped into a cluster of trees which lay at one end of a large field. Wanda eased Pietro down with his back to a sturdy elm. She wished she had a blanket or something to cover him with. They would have to think about new supplies once he was better.

“I'll be right back,” she told him. “Don't go anywhere.”

“Be careful,” Pietro whispered. His eyes were rimmed red and his breathing had a funny wheeze to it. His hands still shook in his lap. Wanda steeled herself and ran.

She took a side street to avoid the smoker and made her way back to the beach path. Every few seconds she made sure to check the position of the treetops so she could find Pietro again. She snuck along the fences until she came to the one behind which such delicious smells lived. Through a crack in the slats she watched a red-haired man whistle while he turned sausages on the grill. A pair of children tumbled in the grass, fighting good-naturedly over a ball. Wanda shut her eyes tight, whispered an apology in her mind and wished.

A few minutes later, a phone rang inside the house. A woman's voice called:

“Kids! Grandma's on the phone!”

The children ran for the door, shrieking with delight. The man chuckled, wiped his hands and closed the lid of the grill before he followed them inside.

Wanda unlatched the back gate and crept forward. A platter sat on the picnic table. She took it, opened the grill and loaded the plate with sausages as quick as she could. She replaced the tongs and closed the gate behind her just as the man returned. His confused cry made Wanda shiver as she fled, bent double behind the fence. Pietro's smile when she arrived, breathless, was more than worth the risk of using her powers.

The sausages smelled so good Wanda's mouth watered. Pietro could not wait; he burned his fingers and tongue scarfing three of them in a row. Wanda let him have his fill before she took the last one. She savoured every bite, and when she had finished she licked the juice from her fingers until not a bit was left. Satisfied, she looked over at Pietro to find him gazing at her with a peculiar expression on his face.

“What?” she said.

“You only had one,” he pointed out.

“So? You need them more. Your colour is better now. How do you feel?”

“I'll be okay,” Pietro replied. “But don't do that again. You need to eat just as much as I do.”

Wanda rolled her eyes. “Bossy,” she said, surprising herself. It might have been the food, but she now felt excited to be in America, for all they had no clothes, no money and nowhere to go. Pietro blinked at her. Then a thin smile cracked his lips and her excitement doubled.

“All right, all right. Soon as I've rested a bit, I'll find us some more food.” Pietro pushed the platter away and leaned back against the tree with a sigh.

Wanda tucked herself in at his side and pulled her knees up to her chest. She tried to keep watch so he could relax, but as the food settled in her stomach she began to feel sleepy. She shook herself, tugged her shirt over her knees and made herself count blades of grass to stay awake.

Her gaze fell on Pietro's feet. They still had flecks of sand stuck to them, dirt and a small green leaf. She flicked the leaf away, brushed the sand off with a corner of her shirt. His feet were slender but strong, pale as the rest of him. She followed the slope of one with her thumb, traced the vein and the bump at his ankle, the faded bruise from his shackles. They had carried him – both of them – such a long way.

Pietro's toes twitched. In that moment Wanda became aware of his gaze and she jerked her hands back. Pietro sat up stiffly. He caught her hand and tilted her chin so she had to look at him.

“What is it?”

“I'm sorry I lost your shoes,” she said. “I'm sorry about everything. I stole those, Pietro. I didn't even have to think about it.” She pointed at the empty platter, then ran her fingers through her hair. The sea breeze whispered in the trees overhead. Six years. Six years since she heard that sound. “I don't know what normal is anymore.”

“Normal is how I feel when I'm with you.”

He said it so quickly Wanda almost missed it – a blur of words that only skidded to a coherent stop after he had said them. They happened that way a lot now. She worried that one day he would speak like that all the time and she wouldn't be able to understand him. Just then though, staring at his downcast eyes, the fidget of his fingers under her palm, she realized she didn't need words to know what he tried so hard to tell her. She clutched his hand and tried very hard not to cry so that he wouldn't panic. She didn't quite succeed.

“Look, I'll berightback,” he said, tugging his hand free. “Gottafindshoes.” He stood up, brushed himself off and looked about. When he had picked his direction he glanced back down at her. “Will you be all right for ten minutes?”

To be honest Wanda didn't want him out of her sight. But he had been strange ever since that kiss. She saw that he needed air, needed space, and she nodded.

“I'll wait here. Don't be long.”

“Never.” He flashed a wry grin and took off.

When the backlash had settled, Wanda curled up in the warm indent his body left in the loam. They had all the time in the world, now. Herr Doktor couldn't possibly know where they were. They had crossed France in less than a week and the Atlantic in under six hours – he wouldn't think to look so far. Not yet, anyway. By then she and Pietro would have found some place to hide. Somewhere with hot food nearby, a solid roof and a comfortable bed--

“Miss? Are you all right?”

Wanda jolted out of her thoughts. Not three feet away stood a man in a black uniform. The father from earlier stood beside him. He pointed at her and said something in a clipped tone. In a rush of panic Wanda only caught the words _runaway_ and _thief._ The father bent to pick up the white platter from the grass. The man in uniform – _mein gott_ , _polizei –_ pursed his lips.

“I think you had better come with me, Miss.”

Wanda stared at him. Then she leaped to her feet.

The _polizei_ shouted and tried to grab her. A grey memory flashed in Wanda's mind. She twisted out of his grasp, dug her fingers into his neck and slammed his head against the tree. She caught a glimpse of the father, mouth agape, before she ran.

Halfway across the field she dared to glance back. To her horror the man had recovered himself and given chase. His hat was gone. Blood streamed from a cut on his forehead. She hadn't been strong enough to knock him out. Pietro would have managed it. But Pietro was far away by now. And he wouldn't be able to find her when he got back. In blind terror Wanda pushed her legs to go faster. Why, why had she stayed behind?

The _polizei_ shouted again for her to stop. He added something else this time, something that made a chill run down Wanda's spine. She darted around the corner of a house, hurtled down the narrow strip between it and the neighbouring house, and burst suddenly onto a street. Cars honked at her. She avoided them by sheer luck and plunged down another road. She could hear the _polizei's_ boots pounding on the pavement behind her.

Then they stopped. Somehow that was worse. Wanda chanced another look. The man spoke into the radio on his shoulder. From far away Wanda heard the wail of a siren.

Of course. Always there were two; she had learned this from the guards in the Facility. His partner had the car.

If she stopped, she would be trapped. If she went on, she would never find Pietro. If she used her powers she might black out and all would be lost.

So Wanda did the only thing she could think of. She ran for the nearest high point – a car parked at the side of the road. She scrambled over the trunk and onto its roof. Seeing this, the _polizei_ began to run toward her again. She had very little time.

Wanda clenched her fists, summoned all her courage and screamed.

She kept screaming, wordlessly, as the car pulled up, lights flashing. She fought as the two of them – a woman now as well, irritation on her face – caught her flailing limbs and pulled her from the roof. They dragged her toward the caged back seat of the police car.

She was still screaming when Pietro struck.

The man flew ten feet through the air. His arm cracked with a sound like ice when he landed. The woman officer let go of Wanda and reached for her gun. It spun away as Pietro slammed her against the side of the car, his arm across her throat.

“Don't touch my sister.”

That he said it in German probably accounted for the look of terror on the woman's face. Pietro sneered and dropped her. He pulled Wanda up by the hand and scooped her into his arms.

For a long moment the world blurred. When he stopped they were in a completely different place. She could see the ocean again through a gap in the buildings.

“I'm sorry,” she gasped as Pietro put her down. “I'm sorry, I didn't see them, they came so quickly, I—”

“Shut up, Wanda.”

He pulled her into a hug so fierce and tight it stole her breath. Then he all but shoved her away from him and turned his back. He ran both hands into his hair and stood like that, perfectly still, for two full minutes. Wanda didn't dare speak.

“We have to be smarter,” Pietro said at last. His voice trembled. “We can't leave each other alone, not for a minute. We have to stay hidden all the time. We have to make a plan.”

“Okay,” Wanda whispered. “Okay. Whatever you want.” And then, because she couldn't bear for him to be angry with her: “I'm sorry, Pietro. I'll be more careful now.”

He shook his head. “It's my fault. I shouldn't have left you alone. _Gott,_ I'm an idiot.” He slumped against the wall and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He was _scared,_ Wanda realized suddenly. Just as lost and scared as she was. They were still fighting for their lives, even an ocean and a continent away. Nothing had changed.

Well, one thing had changed.

“We're both idiots,” she said. The firmness of her voice surprised her. “So we'll get better. We'll make a plan. It'll be okay. We have... we have _us._ ”

Pietro didn't quite smile, but something softened in the line of his jaw. He blew out his cheeks and nodded, looking toward the ocean. Then he scratched the top of his head.

“I have found the most amazing place, you won't believe it. It's like Breuninger back home, but uglier. Come on, I'll show you.” He scooped her into his arms once more and took off.

They travelled along the coast with the ocean on their right, though it was all a blur to Wanda. It seemed only a few minutes before Pietro slowed, and finally put her down at the corner of an alleyway. He took her hand, and together they peeked around the building.

Catercorner to where they stood sat the largest single department store Wanda had ever seen. Its yellow logo shone in a background of blue, mirroring the sun in the bright sky. A steady stream of people passed through the automatic doors; they entered with nothing, and left with carts chock full of goods. Wanda saw one older man go by with a bag full of groceries. She caught a glimpse of pickles and bread. Her mouth watered so suddenly she almost choked.

“I've already been inside,” Pietro said into her ear. “That's where I got my shoes.”

Wanda started and looked down. Sure enough, he wore a pair of brand new runners with a swooshy logo on the side. The tongues were bright green. Wanda smiled.

“Here's what we'll do,” Pietro went on. “We'll run inside and find a place to hide for awhile. When they close tonight, they'll lock us inside. Then we'll have the place to ourselves. Sound good?”

“Yes,” Wanda said at once, her only thought of food and a place to sleep that wasn't in the open air.

“Good. Hang on.”

Part of her wished to see the place as it was now, teeming with people. But after her encounter with the _polizei_ Wanda knew better. So she allowed Pietro to blur them through the doors so that the cameras would not pick them up. She stayed quiet and still so he could focus on finding a place to hide. 

This turned out to be a bathroom on the first floor. A man left it just as they whooshed past. Pietro set Wanda down and locked the outer door so they would have a moment of privacy. Then he climbed onto one of the toilets, pushed aside a ceiling panel and boosted her up. Wanda crawled into the hollow above, filled with pipes and dust, and curled up as much as she could to make room. Pietro darted back to unlock the door, then zoomed over to join her. He heaved himself up with her help and together they replaced the panel.

Not long after that, a large man came into the bathroom. Wanda watched through the pinholes in the ceiling tiles as he entered a stall, lowered his pants and sat down. A grotesque, flatulent melody wafted up.

For the second time the madness of their situation struck her full force. Wanda clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a fit of giggles. Pietro gave her a sharp look, but she could not help it. She gazed back, helpless, half-terrified and shaking. To her horror she saw his mouth twitch, amusement underlying the panic in his eyes. He reached across the tiny gap and held his hand over hers. She couldn't breathe for the ache in her stomach, muscles that had been too long without food instead gorging themselves on hysteria.

In that moment, suspended out of sight above the fat man, Wanda resigned herself to living a life always a little apart from the world. The people below them did not _know_ and so could not care about them. She wanted to rage at them all, to scream _here we are, we have escaped, why did you do nothing?_ Her mind could not reconcile the fact that people existed who knew nothing of the Facility, who had never and _would never_ experience what she and Pietro had been through. And yet the man below them was innocent. The man with the pickles, the police officers, the father, all of them were innocent in their ignorance. Herr Doktor had deceived them as thoroughly as he had deceived Wanda. How many times had Herr Doktor gone out to the store in those five years? How could the cashier have known, just by looking at those patronly eyes, that here was a madman who kept children bound like slaves in his laboratory?

No. The people were not to blame. Always it came back to Herr Doktor.

The fat man stood up, wiped himself and left. Wanda pushed Pietro's hand away, twisted so carefully in the tiny space and pressed her face against his shoulder, all laughter gone. Pietro put his head over against hers. She could hear him struggle to contain his breathing; every sound seemed too loud after the endless silence of the Facility. Pietro had gotten them out. He had come for her when she was trapped by the police. She would trust Pietro and no other.

She fell asleep to the rhythm of his breath in her ear.


	8. Chapter 8

**8.**

 

She dreamed of a trembling aspen, which cast its shadow down the length of an open field. She lay on the grass and watched the late afternoon sun wink at her from among the leaves. Pietro was somewhere close by. She was safe.

Someone called her name.

Wanda woke with a start. It was very dark. Her eyes adjusted and through the perforations she saw that only a single emergency light showed the way to the door. Pietro gripped her hand.

“They're gone,” he whispered. “I'll go make sure.”

He pulled up the panel and wiggled out, balancing one foot on the stall barrier below. He swung himself down and vanished. Wanda wiped the sleep from her eyes and followed. She used the bathroom herself and had just finished washing when Pietro came back. He was walking normally. Even in the half light she saw that some of the tension had left his body, and she felt herself relax in turn. He held the door open and motioned her over.

“Come see.”

Darkness blanketed the store, pockmarked by the occasional spotlight. Mannequins cooled their feet after a long day of posing. All the tills were silent. In the far left corner of the sales floor shone an unnaturally white light. It made the girdered ceiling look like a spider's web woven out of thick shadows. Wanda shivered with a raw sort of excitement. When Pietro made to step forward she caught his hand.

“What about alarms?” she whispered, afraid to speak up in case the mannequins were listening.

Pietro looked down at her and smiled. It stole her breath where none of the others had. In that moment he looked young, as carefree as the night before they were taken.

“I already dismantled it,” he said, laughter in his voice. “Come on!”

That night they were as children again. Hand in hand they ran through the aisles, stopping each other often to point out some fresh rediscovery. In outerwear Pietro strutted about, twirling an umbrella, while Wanda tried on shoes. (Hers had been lost to the ocean along with Pietro's.) She laughed at him, but was disappointed they couldn't take the umbrella after all – it was too bulky.

They replaced their ragged clothing too, switched salt-encrusted trousers for soft jogging clothes, near skintight. Pietro looked very pleased. He spent over an hour in the shoe department himself, carefully choosing two pairs of runners for when his current pair inevitably fell off his feet in tatters. Wanda stayed within sight of him, just in case, but the store remained quiet and she soon grew bored. She stood up amid a pile of discarded shoes and dusted off her rear.

"I'm going to see what there is to eat."

Pietro tossed a too-small shoe onto the pile.

"Don't touch any windows or go anywhere near the doors," he said, frowning. "And if anything happens, yell."

"I know." They had to be careful, yes, but honestly. She wasn't _five_. She ruffled his hair, which he hated, and left him there.

Wanda meandered through the aisles, looking at everything in case it could be useful. She took a new knapsack and two torches from the camping section. Neither of them worked, so she went to electronics for batteries. None of the electronics interested her - she had only vague memories of the black box in Vati's office and had missed about eight years of technological advancement. When she had the torches working she put them in the bag, took three extra packs of batteries and put those in too. Then she walked toward that white light.

She saw at once what made it strange. It shone, not from the ceiling, but from two rows of frozen goods kept behind glass. Wanda smiled to see all of that food. Just as quickly, however, she frowned.

How were they to cook it?

She heard Pietro calling her in a loud whisper and whistled lightly. In an instant he stood beside her - the shoes, tied together over his shoulder, thumped against his back. Wanda spread her arms.

"Well, here is all the dinner we could want. And here we are without an oven or stove." She slapped her thigh and sighed. "I was really looking forward to something hot."

Pietro looked at the food. He rubbed his lips and thought awhile. Then he snapped his fingers.

"There's a whole second level upstairs - that's where security was. I bet there's a lunch room for the employees."

There was. It had a microwave and a kettle, but no stove. Wanda shrugged.

“It's better than nothing.”

This time they were careful – they could not afford another encounter with the _polizei._ They found blankets and put one up over the window with duct tape so that the light would not shine through. They dared not use candles, in case the heat triggered a fire alarm. It was cold in the store, but they were out of the wind and had a wealth of sweaters at their disposal. When they had made a comfortable little nest in the staff room, they returned to the grocery and ransacked each aisle, bringing armloads of anything they thought might cook well in the microwave. After half an hour they had an assortment of soups, peanut butter sandwiches and a big mug of hot chocolate each, and they stuffed themselves with abandon. The hot chocolate in particular was very good. When they had sated themselves Wanda made them each a second mug and brought them to the table.

Pietro sat with one foot up on an empty chair, still working through a box of crackers and garlic spread. He took his mug with an absent word of thanks, his gaze fixed on the rear wall of the staff room. Wanda smeared some spread onto a cracker and popped it into her mouth.

“What is it?” she asked, spraying crumbs, and quickly covered her mouth.

Pietro shook his head minutely. He took his mug with him and went to look more closely at the wall. Wanda peered around his shoulder without getting up. Pinned to a corkboard that spanned the length of the wall was a map. It had little smiley face markers on it which formed a line leading inland. Cutout paper letters above read “Best in the State! Keep up the Good Work”. Pietro sipped his chocolate and poked the one smiley outlined with paper points, like the sun.

“This is the store,” he said. “And these,” - he followed the line of smileys with his finger - “these are all the same store. It's all across the country.” He lowered his hand and fell quiet.

Wanda looked at the map. She ate another cracker and looked some more. Then she began to smile. Pietro grinned at her over his shoulder and raised his mug in cheers.

They cleaned away the food so as not to attract flies, and brought dozens of cushions to pad their nest. Pietro took down the map and carefully folded it so that it would fit in the outer pocket of the knapsack. They must not tear or lose it – a greater feat considering the speeds at which they moved. Then they loaded the bag with granola bars, noodle cups and water. (And socks. Wanda was adamant, though Pietro said they felt constricting and left them off.)

With these preparations complete, they placed a chair in front of the door so that if anyone entered the sound would wake them. Pietro had taken a watch from the jewellery section; he set its alarm to wake them before first light. Curled up beside him under the blanket, Wanda suddenly wanted to trace the silhouette of his jaw in the watch's faint glow.

_Normal is how I feel when I'm with you,_ Pietro had said.

What a perfect way to put it.

“Here.” Pietro's voice broke Wanda from her sleepy thoughts. He reached into his pocket. Wanda tilted the flashlight to see.

The necklace was made of gold, a delicate chain from which dangled a small round garnet, fastened with a star-shaped clasp. Even before they were taken, Wanda had not owned anything so lovely. Pietro fixed it at the nape of her neck with gentle fingers.

“It's not much,” he said, “but you should have something pretty.”

Wanda played the garnet between thumb and forefinger so the light made it shine. It didn't matter that it was stolen – _they_ had been stolen, after all, and so they were only taking something back for themselves.

“I love it,” she said, and let it lie against her skin.

“Good.” His lips brushed her neck. Then he stretched out in the blankets with a sigh.

Wanda shivered in an aftershock of goosebumps. She zipped her sweater up, trapping the cool weight of the pendant underneath, and lay down beside him. For the first time she noticed how easily he shifted to accommodate her in the curve of his body. Wanda traced the vein in his arm where it lay across her stomach and thought of the look in his eyes when he pinned that _polizei_ woman against the car.

“Tomorrow,” she said slowly, still working it out in her mind, “you should teach me how to hit people like you do. Just in case.”

Pietro's huff of laughter ruffled her hair.

“I can't. I have no idea what I'm doing. I just run at them as fast as I can and hit them with my whole body.”

“Oh.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“We might need it.”

“Don't worry,” he said, his voice thick with fatigue. “I'll protect you.”

Soon his breathing evened out and he abandoned her, however briefly, to sleep. Wanda turned off the flashlight to save the battery and lay quiet, but she could not follow him. In their travels she had become aware that Pietro now moved on a level beyond hers. He revelled in his power, flexed it without hesitation - indeed with an almost childlike delight – while she hardly dared to wish for even the simplest things anymore. Should she do something to harm him, even by accident, they would be lost. She must compensate in other ways.

She fell asleep still trying to determine what those ways might be.

The alarm woke them at the crack of dawn. Pietro flailed upright, shouting _Get out, get out!_ to which Wanda's body responded by hurling itself out of the nest toward the exit. He called her back almost as quickly – it had only been a nightmare. Grumpy and confused, they stumbled through brushing their teeth at the little sink, rolled up a blanket to take with them and packed the flashlight away.

Then a man opened the door.

The chair squeaked on the tile floor. Wanda, being nearest, whipped her head around to look. The man stared back at her in shock, his hand still on the doorknob. His eyes roved from Wanda, over the mess on the table, to the nest where Pietro knelt, frozen, in the midst of packing. The man's mouth opened but no sound came out. He was still staring when Wanda strode over, picked up the chair and cracked him over the head. He dropped like the barometric pressure before a storm, straight back into the hallway. Wanda stood with the chair held up, chest heaving, while blood trickled down the man's forehead.

“Okay. Okay, okay, easy.” Suddenly Pietro was there, easing the chair away from her. “ _Mein Gott,_ Wanda...”

“Is he dead?” Wanda whispered, terrified. She hadn't even felt herself move.

Pietro knelt beside the man.

“He's breathing. We need to go.”

“I didn't mean to,” Wanda said, feeling panic rise. “I'm sorry, I didn't—”

“Wanda, _don't.”_ Pietro stood up and moved away. “If you lose control now we're in trouble. He would have just called the police on us anyway.” He brought her the backpack and helped her into it. Then he sighed.

“Look. You didn't hit him that hard. He'll be okay. There'll be somebody along in a minute. Let's go, all right?”

“You don't know that,” Wanda whispered. “You don't know that.” She thought of the fat man in the bathroom and felt sick. They were just _people._ Like she and Pietro had once been. She took a step toward the fallen man, to help or what, she didn't know.

All of a sudden Pietro grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

“Listen to me,” he said, his gaze fierce. “We're already fucked, okay? We've stolen things and run away and we're illegal in this country. We're _mutants._ They are always going to hate us. We have to be willing to fight all the time now. We don't have a _choice.”_

“I know,” Wanda said, hating herself, hating Herr Doktor for putting them in this place, this horrid nowhere between safety and murder.

Pietro deflated at once. His Adam's apple bobbed and he let go of her shoulders.

“Let's just go.”

He zipped away, shouldered the pack and whooshed over the man's body. Wanda was careful not to step on the man as she followed. The blood had begun to dry on his forehead in a lump. Wanda crouched and brushed her fingers over the man's brow.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered without feeling it, and left him.

 

~*~

  

Wanda stands with Pietro in a cluster of elms. Below them the hill slopes down to the edge of a parking lot, strewn with a few evening cars. It has been eighteen hours since the man and the chair, in the city they now know as Boston. Tomorrow they will cross into Pennsylvania, and then turn west toward California. They have a new map and they will keep an eye out for more of what they have come to think of as 'their' stores. But they must stagger their thefts now, or they will leave a trail across the country.

Just before close, Pietro dashes them through the main doors and straight into the change rooms in the very back of the store. Not long after, the lights go down. A man comes along with a flashlight to check the back rooms. He shines the light about too much. Hunched on a bench so their feet can't be seen, Wanda and Pietro hold their breaths. The man comes closer. Wanda narrows her eyes.

His flashlight flickers and goes out.

“Aw damn it... crappy thing...”

The guard smacks it a few times as he leaves. Pietro squeezes Wanda's hip in the dark.

When they are sure everyone has gone, they move in. In such a short time they have developed a routine. They know where the food is kept, which shoes to avoid and where to find the bedding. Within half an hour they are comfortably ensconced in the staff room. It is much like the previous one, a little bigger maybe, and there is a freestanding metal closet for coats. It is empty now, of course, except for a discarded pair of shoes. Pietro tries them on out of habit. They don't fit.

The twins cook noodles, share chips and dip, and drink fruit juice (because Pietro wanted a different flavour and it's getting too warm out for hot chocolate). Wanda makes a quick trip downstairs for chocolate granola bars and they have one each for dessert. The rest they shove into the knapsack for later. They are careful not to leave too much mess this time. They are careful to cover the windows, and to keep the flashlights low. They are careful.

After they eat (a lot – Pietro went through all of the granola bars from the previous store in a _day,_ Wanda has no idea where he's putting them _),_ Pietro goes downstairs. He comes back with an honest to god toy – a ball that lights up when you smack it. He tosses it to Wanda, who catches it in both hands and looks at its blinking light in confusion.

“What's this for?” she says.

“For _us,_ _dummkopf_ ,” he says fondly. “I want to play.”

It's such a weird thing for him to say. She thinks of the night before, Pietro strutting about with that umbrella, and realizes he's reaching for that part of himself which was lost. She doesn't blame him. She has been doing the same.

Wanda smiles.

“All right.”

They sit opposite each other, their backs to the walls, and roll the ball between them while they make plans in low voices. Once they're away from the coast, Pietro says, they can take it a little slower, see some sights. Wanda does not think the word “future” - she's not naive anymore – but she brushes her fingers over the garnet necklace and tells him she would like very much to see America with him.

The sun has gone down. Pietro pushes the ball toward her one last time and yawns. Wanda picks it up as its light goes out. She wants to keep it – it made Pietro smile – but it's not practical. She lets it roll away and pushes herself up to get ready for bed.

The walls still flash red-and-blue. Wanda squints and nudges the ball with her foot. Its light is clearly off.

“Pietro...”

They share a glance in dawning horror and move as one to the window. Pietro twitches the blanket aside just a crack so they can see out. A ring of police cars encircles their view. Uniformed men and women mill about with cones and tape – they call this “setting up a perimeter”, Wanda recalls. As they watch, three black vans pull into the lot. More men spill out. Men with guns.

“ _Scheisse.”_ Pietro vanishes in a rush of wind. Wanda backs away from the window, shaking. As an afterthought she snatches up the knapsack and is ready when Pietro returns. Her heart begins to pound. His expression is grim.

“They've surrounded the building,” he says. Wanda reels, grasping for the nearest chair.

“You can outrun them,” she gasps past the red in her vision.

“Yes,” he says, drawing the word out horribly, “but not carrying you. They've put up barricades. I could smash your legs if there's not enough room.”

Wanda does not cry out. She does not pray. If there was a God, He would have stepped in long ago. She clutches the bag and makes herself breathe.

“You have to run--”

“I'll go to the roof,” he says quickly. “I'll lead them away. You slip out the other side--”

“Pietro, I'm not leaving without you.”

“I can get away just fine. We'll meet in the trees and--”

A door opens down the hall. Pietro and Wanda freeze. A man's voice, quiet but clear:

“It's one of these rooms. Carefully now. They're very agitated.”

Wanda doesn't hear a reply. Pietro shoves her bodily into the coat closet. He squirms around, stepping painfully on her foot, and just manages to close the door in time. Wanda curls her fingers into the back of his shirt, trembling.

This is it _._ They have been found.

The outer door opens. A man stands there – Wanda can see him through the gap between the closet doors. He is tall and thin, dressed in slacks and a brown leather jacket. He takes in the room at a glance; his gaze lingers on the corner where the twins made their bed. Something inscrutable crosses his face. From behind him the same voice echoes down the hall:

“You know, I really think they must still be in the building--”

“Yes, thank you, Charles,” the man murmurs. He makes a vague gesture with one hand. It swings shut on a second man, shorter, rounder about the face, who appears with a look of astonishment just as the door closes, all on its own.

Wanda's breath stops.

She is aware, faintly, that the man on the other side of the door is now hammering upon it, calling for his friend. She is aware that Pietro's hand over hers has gone clammy with fear, and that his body sings with tension. Hers does the same, because the man in the brown coat closed the door _with a thought._

Pietro was wrong. They are the golden children no more. 

The man takes another step forward. The closet hums like a plucked bowstring around them. The man tilts his head like a raptor observing a mouse. He makes the gesture again. Wanda hides her face against Pietro's shoulder. _This is it, this is it_.

The closet doors burst open.

“ _Howdidyoudothat?”_

A pause, long enough to make Wanda peek again. The man looks at Pietro – brave, beloved Pietro, who even now shields her as best he can – and blinks.

“What did you say?” he asks, in flawless German.

Wanda muffles a gasp. Pietro presses her back further, trying to gain distance even though they have nowhere to go. His eyes dart from the man to the door and back again, stalling for time.

“Howdidyoumovethedoors?”

The man raises his hand. Pietro and Wanda both flinch. The man lowers it at once, and that inscrutable something crosses his face again.

“Slowly, slowly. I'm not going to harm you.”

Pietro's heart thrums under Wanda's hand. He licks his lips and fights his own body for control of his speed.

“How... did you move the doors?”

The man's mouth twists at one corner. It is not quite a smile, but there is pride in it.

“I have my tricks, like you.” And he puts out his hand again. A chair slides with an eerie screech into place. Wanda feels suddenly that this store belongs to him, has always been his, and that they have trespassed on his domain; such is the ease with which he sits.

Pietro swallows hard.

“Did Herr Doktor send you?”

At that, the man's eyes darken. The cabinet thrums a dangerous note. Wanda shivers.

“I knew a Herr Doktor once. But that was a long time ago, and I killed him.”

Wanda's body relaxes by a hair. This cannot be the same Doktor. And the way the man said it; so casually, but laced with a promise. The kind of promise written on a bullet meant for another man's heart. The kind of bullet Wanda will use if she and Herr Doktor ever meet again.

Another lengthy pause. The man and Pietro size each other up. Pietro is wary. The man remains calm.

“Who are you?” Pietro says at last.

Wanda lifts her head and looks, for the first time, into a pair of eyes the same piercing shade as her own.

“My name is Erik Lensherr,” the man says. “I've come to help you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I hope you enjoyed this story. Comments and kudos are very much appreciated. Hate mail will be read aloud in the voice of Dexter from Dexter's Lab, and then deleted. :) Cheers!


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